Semper Eadem
by TheDukeofWellington
Summary: A world where every man has a motive to kill you, and every action could kill you is the world forced upon Arthur Wellesley and his other half, Amata Almodovar. Together they enter a world so repulsively void of morals and ethics that they themselves hold onto each other for fear of losing their own lives. This is the Atomic Wasteland.
1. A Road Begins With A Single Step

Semper Eadem

_**Hello everybody.**_

_**My name is Nathaniel and this is my first attempt at a fanfiction. While I am not new to fanfiction, I am new to writing it. This is one of my favourite games ever and although I hold it in very high regard, I am aware of several shortcomings with the story. I intend not to follow the story directly. I am not of the school of thought that is convinced that direct imitation is a good reason to write a story about it, and as a result I will be wandering off with the story in several directions and I intend to expand the story well beyond the original Vanilla version.**_

_**As I have previously said I am new to writing. While I have a great deal of experience with books, being a antiquarian, I am afraid I pose neither the brilliance of any conventional writer nor the detailed literature side of writing, I do possess, however, an imagination for this fiction and I intend to draw the string out as it were. I do have a mild form of Dyslexia, so please account for any misspelled words, which if you inform me of I will rectify immediately, however please bear in mind I am English and therefore spell things a slightly different way from the Americans. Metre and Litre being one such example.**_

_**I have somewhat of a fascination with the Duke of Wellington so if anybody can spot all the references throughout I will award you with one hundred points. I have, and will, base his character to mine heavily and I do not intend to make his personality a two dimensional affair.**_

_**Any criticism or suggestions will be taken gracefully and I will endeavour to implement them as best I can. Furthermore, it would be much appreciated if you could spare the time to review this story. Criticism serves the same function as pain, it brings to our attention an unhealthy state of things. If at any point things could be improved please let me know, and if it ever appears that I do not know where the story is going, it is most likely that I don't.**_

_**So once more, welcome aboard and I will try my damnedest to make this an interesting story. Please enjoy and review and I hope you enjoy my story.**_

_**Nathaniel Howarth Sanchez**_

Semper Eadem

James was impatiently pacing back and forth in a narrow tunnel corridor underneath the Jefferson Memorial. His thoughts wandered between his concern for his wife and his anticipation for his soon-to-be born child. He was growing nervous, the contractions had started a few hours ago and the ordeal shouldn't be taking this long, should it? With only the dripping sound of water accompanying him, it was a lonely, fear filled wait, unending in its span and making the doctor more nervous by the second, but all he could do was wait in the visceral darkness. While James was a professional doctor, Dr. Li had asked him to leave the room, for privacy and the fact that James' emotions were clearly affecting his wife, a fact he knew, but how could he be cool in such a time? He knew of Catherine's congenital heart defect, he knew that it was going to be a long and exhausting time for her, but he knew she could pull through. James had personally spent weeks finding the necessary materials and equipment for the birth, meticulously finding a solution to any potential problem, but he knew if Catherine's heart worked too hard, the results would be catastrophic. James tried to bury this knowledge with the hope that in a few more hours he would be a loving father and Catherine would be fine. It was all becoming too much for him. He leant against a wall and slumped onto the cold, wet concrete floor, finding it a comfort to be sat still rather than endlessly pacing, waiting for what could be hours.

He sat there, thinking about the trivialities of being a father. Would it be a girl or a boy? What would he name it? What would the teenage years be like?

"God," he thought out loud, "am I ready for this?"

He knew that he couldn't prepare for everything but he would do his best to bring his child up with Catherine in a loving, nuclear family. James laughed to himself at that thought of a nuclear family.

"How fittingly ironic," he thought.

James was exhausted, physically and emotionally, he sat there thinking everything through again and again with the groaning wait burring at his mind. Eventually, in a near fit of frustration, he decided to speak with Dr. Li. He rose to his feet and set off in search for her but as he walked to the door, the mechanism within it activated. Before him stood Dr. Li. Her face screamed stress and the always proud and collected doctor was clearly on edge. She sighed, delivering a great deal of panic to James.

"It's going well," she said. "It's taking a while, as expected, but nothing to cause alarm."

With this, James felt a massive wave of relief wash over him; he had been hugely worried about the time. He jumped on his opportunity without hesitation.

"How is she?" he said hastily, showing all the signs of a man in distress.

"She's fine, James. Don't worry, everything checks out fine. Her blood pressure is okay but we need to monitor it, obviously. I've given her a makeshift epidural with the Med-X we have, it's crude but it will lessen the pain somewhat."

James was deeply pleased with the result, especially considering the alternative scenarios which had been racing in his head.

"So, is it time?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, we need you scrubbed up and on the floor in the next 10 minutes, but just come in calm James, that's what she needs right now. She wants you to deliver the child, is that okay with you?"

James nodded slowly and took a breath to steady himself and set about his pre-operation ablations, cleaning up to his elbows with soap and Abraxo cleaner. The solution burnt his arms but he found solace in that it was also doing the same to any possible infections. He donned his pristine white lab coat and his face mask before taking a moment to steady himself. He breathed deeply for a minute, becoming slightly light headed in the process. He set off towards the makeshift theatre, entering the room with all the grace he could afford. He walked over to his young, beautiful wife and gripped her hand with his glove still on.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asked with the usual calm and power that characterised his voice.

"Fine," Catherine smiled back, though clearly in a great deal of pain.

"That's my girl," he smiled sympathetically back to her.

He leant down and kissed her sweaty forehead and walked down to the opposite end of the bed she was on. Dr. Li stood behind him.

"Okay Catherine, the head is crowning. We need you to push now, okay?" Dr. Li ordered.

Catherine screamed as she pushed as hard as she could. James grimaced behind his mask, how could so much pain come from such a happy moment? He let Dr. Li perform the last stages before she handed control to him. He gripped the baby with a set of forceps and pull gently, pulling the child from the canal onto the birthing sheet. He picked up his child and stared at the wrinkled face of his new future. A million thoughts rushed through his head, not a single one about the sex of the child. Reality came spinning back to him.

"Formalities first," he said to himself.

"Let's see, are you a boy or a girl?" he said slowly, examining his new born child. "It's a boy! A boy! We've got a son Catherine!" he said happily, showing no signs of the man who was nearly in pieces but 10 minutes before. "A beautiful healthy baby boy!"

He was ecstatic, beaming over his son. He had privately hoped for a son, someone he could be a true role model too.

"Oh… oh James, oh we did it," Catherine said meekly, clearly exhausted by her ordeal, but no less pleased with the outcome.

"A son, a beautiful son." Despite the pain and regardless of her delirious state that she was in, she was just as pleased as James. James' nuclear family was a reality and he couldn't be happier.

"You've got a bright future ahead of you son, I'm sure of it," he said softly to the child.

The child began to contort its shrivelled face, amusing James to no end.

"Look at you!" he said, sounding rather like a baby himself. "Look at you… Hi, there! I'm your daddy little guy. Daddy!" James looked between his son and his wife, content as ever. "You're going to need a name, aren't you? Your mother and I have been talking, what do you think about Arthur? That's a good name, don't you think? Suits him perfectly. Arthur Wellesley."

James looked behind him to see that a small monitor was beeping quietly.

"Looks like they've finished the gene projection, let's see what you'll look like when you're all grown up."

James turned to the monitor to see a face that looked almost identical to his. The child would have the same facial shape of his father, the light Caucasian skin, he would have a similar type of dark brown hair that was slightly wavy, his nose was to retain the shape of his father's, the child's eyes however were to take darker, more piercing shade of blue than his father's, almost Prussian blue. In all, James could have sat himself next to the projection and anyone would have had difficulty telling the two apart. James proudly noted that his child had a handsome face, derived from his own. He chuckled.

"You're going to look a lot like your dad. See that Catherine?"

Catherine had been looking at the monitor through tired eyes but she could clearly see the resemblance between the two, 'shockingly similar,' she thought.

"Ooooh, ooh very strapping ha...ha...ha."

James was concerned for his wife, he knew it had taken a lot out of her and she was clearly suffering, but he was too enthralled by his new child to notice Catherine's heart rate monitor fluctuating wildly.

James looked to his son, "It's a big world out there, full of all sorts of people, what about you? What kind of person are you going to be? You'll just..."

James was cut short by his wife. By now the monitor was screaming alert and Catherine was in a great deal of distress.

"Christ, not now!" James thought to himself, he ran over to Catherine's side and tried administering some drugs to bring her heart under control.

"Catherine! She's gone into cardiac arrest!" he looked to Dr. Li.

The drugs failed to make any impact as Catherine's heart went on uncontrolled. He watched his wife for a brief moment. He saw all semblance of colour drain from her face. Her body went limp and her face was paralysed in a state of pure panic as James desperately tried to get a reaction from her. Her body was cold and sweaty, her hair drenched in it and her forehead beading with sweat as well. James looked on in horror as he witnessed his love die before him. He started compressions as soon as he thought it was best. He heard his wife's rib cage crack with a sickening crunch when he applied force for the compression. He began counting in his head.

"One, one thousand. Two, one thousand."

He was losing everything to him, and he knew it. Nothing was working.

He looked to Dr. Li "Get the baby out of here now!" he ordered.

Dr. Li wheeled the child away while James stayed, fighting his losing battle to save his love. James wouldn't let death beat him; he stayed administering CPR for a whole ten minutes, despite the monitor declaring the patient dead and requesting that it be shut down to preserve charge. Dr. Li re-entered the room, seeing a distraught James with tears running down his face trying to bring Catherine back. But she had gone. She walked to James and tore him from the body. James resisted, fighting her efforts to bring him away. Dr. Li grabbed James into a hug and James began to cry. She had never heard the man cry before. He was always the rock in the storm, all the way through the project. Now the rubble of the man cried against her, looking with horror at his wife's body. The shattered James could do nothing but look upon her beautiful dead face.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 Year Later<strong>_

James stood at the far end of the room, inside a small playpen built to house his adventurous one year old. The pen itself was quite large. The Vault room James had set up the pen in was his bedroom but he had allocated more than half of the room to his child. He was clapping to get the small child to walk to him.

"Here, Arthur, come to Daddy."

The child picked himself up unsteadily; supporting himself with the bed and when he was upright, with arms outstretched, he stumbled over to his father. James was amazed how quickly Arthur had developed walking and was doing so well at such a young age was unusual, but he was proud of his young son.

"Just a little further," James said, encouraging the walking child.

Arthur wobbled his way over to James, hands clenching and opening, indicating he wanted to be picked up.

"There you are." James said when Arthur moved into the playpen. "My goodness, only one year old and walking like a pro."

He gazed upon his son and was remembered of the bitter absence of his wife. Not a day had gone by when he hadn't reflected upon her. He thought of everything to do with her. When she first met him on the pier, when the two singles became a duality, and James thought about her death. He viewed her death as a sacrifice for Arthur and he wouldn't let her die in vain. James had elected to raise Arthur and teach him of all the things his wife had held dear and he knew that she would have given anything to see the clumsy child stumble his way towards her.

"Your mother would have been so proud," James said softly.

James looked to his Pip-Boy 3000 and noticed the inbuilt messaging system was blinking. The Overseer had 'summoned' him. James sighed, he knew this was going to be another heated argument but James needed the materials to carry on. He resented being under the control of such an authoritarian figure, but a necessary evil. James would just have to accept the dominance the Overseer exerted upon him. After all his, ambitions required the Overseer's cooperation. James sighed as he rose to his feet; he had wanted to spend the day he had off with his child, teaching him how to walk and help him with his motor controls, but that would have to wait. James had more pressing matters.

"Listen Kiddo, I know you don't like it when Daddy leaves you alone, but I need you to take care of yourself for a minute." James said locking his child into the pen. "You just stay here while Daddy runs to his office, you'll be okay pal," speaking reassuringly to his child. "I'll be back in a minute," he promised and walked out of the room to meet with the Overseer.

James felt bad for temporarily abandoning his son but he had to make his case to the Overseer. He continued down the faded tunnels of Vault 101. He had once joked that the Vault was a "civilised hole in the ground." However, with the Overseer in charge, civilised translated into controlled. He walked to the upper levels of the Vault, a short walk by any standards made all the quicker by the pace James was walking. He arrived outside of the Overseer's quarters and let himself in. On the floor was the Overseer's young daughter, Amata, a mere 2 months younger than Arthur. Straddled alongside her was the Overseer's young wife, Maria, on the floor, playing with the young child.

"Hello Maria, is he in?" James said had always liked Maria. She was quiet but thoughtful and caring and had helped to no end when James had first had to cope alone with Arthur. She had been unwell recently, finding herself short of breath and subject to large coughing fits so James was established as her physician.

"Oh, hi, James. Yes, he's through there, but just be warned, he's in one of those moods again," Maria advised jokingly.

"Thanks, I'll try not to rattle the cage too much, I've been on the receiving end enough times to know that he spits," James retorted amusingly. "Coincidentally, how have you been? You've not been round in a while," James inquired.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you, James. Those antibiotics are doing wonders," she replied.

James was unsure of the validity of that statement as more than likely it was a placebo effect. He had actually prescribed her some antibiotics but he was beginning to suspect that whatever was wrong with her was far more serious than any old chest infection.

"Marvellous. Be sure to see me for a check-up in two weeks, I just want to see how much you've improved." James ordered, showing his bed-side manner was always as good as it always was.

He entered into a small room full of monitors. James stood there, composed as ever, waiting for the Overseer to acknowledge him. In the centre of the room sat a grey haired figure. He had a well-defined, stern face. His hands swiping over the keyboard of his computer, no doubt filling in dossiers on the vault residents, James thought. After a few awkward moments, James coughed, announcing himself to the Overseer.

"Ah James, how good of you to join me. Everything is meeting your expectations, I assume?"

James recognised the air of authority the Overseer had. He commanded a presence which James knew was hard to resist against.

"Actually Alphonse, I want to start experiments upon one of the systems main filtration tanks," James stated calmly.

"James," Alphonse said condescendingly, "how many times must I say this? We have no need for a scientist. We need a doctor, not a mad man wasting vault resources on hopeless experiments. These 'experiments' are a waste of time."

James felt assaulted, he had been expecting the Overseer to be resistant, but it would seem that James was now on the defensive.

"These 'experiments' are to prepare, to prepare is to survive," James replied assiduously. "Don't be a damned fool, Alphonse; you know that they could prove lifesaving. All I am asking for is one filter room out of dozens. Jonas and I will isolate it and circumnavigate it away from the other systems. There's no risk to the Vau-"

James was brutally cut off from the Overseer, "James! Don't be foolish! You can't prove these experiments valid above a glass of water, and you expect me to dedicate Vault resources on such a scale based on such precarious results? For the good of the Vault, no."

James was about to reply but he was rebuffed by the Overseer. "James, you seriously want me to pull resources from circulation? I'm sorry, but my decision is final. It is regrettable that the work you put in won't come to fruition but I have told you from the moment you stepped in, _you_ are the doctor, not god. I am the arbiter, and you will show me the respect I deserve."

He turned to the monitors at the wall and stared one in particular.

"You want me to believe that you can responsibly manage such resources? You can't even manage your infant!" James looked at the screen noticing the young Arthur escaping from his pen and walking towards James' bed.

"Bloody hell!" James muttered as he ran from the room. The Overseer sat, not moving, simply continuing with his previous activities, albeit with a growing smug smile plastering his face.

James ran back to his room as fast as he could. God knows what the baby could find and swallow. He found his room and opened the door to his sleeping quarters. There he found mischievous Arthur playing with his S.P.E.C.I.A.L. book. James grinned, seeing the whole ordeal as an overreaction and smiled down to his son. He began laughing at the boy.

"You are quite the little explorer, aren't you? Serves me right for trying to pen you in."

He looked at the framed biblical reference on the shelf. He looked at it and remembered his wife as a wave of sadness washed over him once more. He was sad not only for himself but also for Arthur. The child would grow up without a mother, a life James never wanted for him. He decided to show Arthur the single most important material possession that he owned.

"Come over here, I want to show you something."  
>Arthur stumbled his way forward, dropping the book he was holding, looking into his father's eyes, grinning all the way. James leant down as Arthur approached him.<p>

"See that?" he said pointing at the reference. "That was your mother's favourite passage," He looked down to Arthur, who was staring at his father.

"It's from the bible; Revelation 21:6. 'I am Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.'" James looked longingly at the passage, remembering his past life. "She always loved that," he said slipping into his memories.

"Alright, let's see if your little friend Amata wants to play."

James had endeavoured to make Arthur and Amata friends. Not only was she close to the Overseer, he hoped in the future, their friendship would grow into an unbreakable bond, tying Arthur to the place he knew as home. But he also wanted his son to have a friend and James wasn't keen on the other candidates, or rather their parents, all carrying some disreputable trait or flaw. "Dirty old ladies breed dirty little girls," he thought to himself, reciting Juveniles speech on women from his classical studies, he always found such quotes useful to live by. 

* * *

><p><em><strong>9 Years Later<strong>_

Arthur walked towards the Canteen. His father had told him that he had a few water ration tickets left unclaimed and he had to cache them in before they expired. Arthur realised the usually busy Vault was deserted, usually there were people walking to and fro, doing menial jobs and running errands, but today they were suspiciously absent. Regardless, Arthur walked on, ignoring the emptiness. He walked to the Canteen door and he could see the lights were off, an unusual occurrence again. It was Arthur's birthday and he had hoped for a surprise party but it never came to fruition, and this year was no different. Even his father had forgotten it. He pressed the console adjacent to the door and it slid open. The room was black save for the light produced by Andy's exhaust fumes.

"Now Maitland! Now's your time!" the robot said in its quintessential English accent.

"Who?" Arthur said puzzled.

With that, a blinding light came from the room. Forcing Arthur's eyes to wrench close.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" came a deafening call from the packed canteen.

Arthur's eyes slowly adjusted to the light, making out the figures of about twenty people packed into the small canteen. In front of him stood his father and Amata.

"Happy birthday, Pal!" James said walking towards his son. "I can't believe you're already ten! I'm so proud of you! If only your mother-" James veneration of his son was cut short by the Overseer.

The Overseer adopted his usual official tone, though slightly softened, he didn't want to appear too overbearing to his future employee.

"Congratulations, young man. I don't have to tell you how special this day is, do I? Down here in Vault 101, when you turn ten, well, you're ready to start your first official responsibility. So here you are!" The Overseer presented a small wrist mounted interface with a command and control glove attached to it. "As Overseer, I hereby present to your very own Pip-Boy 3000. Get used to it," The Overseer's voice sounded rather cynical toward the end part of his speech, but that was just the way he was, Arthur thought. "You'll be getting your first assignment tomorrow," he said somewhat cryptically and then started laughing maniacally.

Arthur had always been intimidated by the Overseer. He was best friends with his daughter, and, while lacking any overt parental traits, he was deeply protective over her and often went to great lengths to make Arthur remember that he was in charge. James could sense Arthur's unease and came to his rescue.

"Enjoy your party. You're only ten once, so have fun. Go to Stanley to get the Pip-Boy fitted to your arm, and then go and thank your guests."

Arthur nodded, "Can I say hi to Amata first?" he pleaded.

"Of course son. Just don't forget you have other guests," James prompted and walked away to sit by at the counter with Stanley.

Amata walked up to Arthur and said, "Happy birthday! We really surprised you didn't we? Your dad was afraid you were onto us, but I told him not to worry. You're so easy to fool!" She joked.

Arthur was embarrassed to admit it, but they had. He had no idea of what they had planned. He thought discretion was the better part of valour and avoided her question.

"Thanks for throwing this party. Thanks for doing this for me!" Arthur dodged.

Amata smiled softly back at him. "You're welcome, but really, your Dad did most of it. I just helped with the decorations and stuff," she admitted, but Arthur knew that she had put a lot of effort in. How else would the Overseer have been convinced if not for her intervention?

"Hey, I bet you can't guess what I got you for your birthday! Go on, guess!"

Arthur thought for a moment, "I really have no idea," he said defeated.

"Ha!" Amata said revelling in her victory. "I knew I would surprise you. Who's your favourite Barbarian? That's right, Grognak! Issue Fourteen!" Amata said proudly. She was clearly pleased with her find, "_and_ with no missing pages!" she added triumphantly. "I found this in a box of my Father's old things, believe it or not. Imagine him reading comic books," she stated incredulously, "I guess everyone was ten once. Well, I better let you get back to 'mingling' with your guests. Come and see me when you're done. We'll talk later, okay? Happy Birthday!"

Amata had always been somewhat older than her physical age. She had carried a level of intelligence that Butch and his drones clearly lacked. She was intelligent in her own right. She had a knack for gauging emotions, a useful trait for a best-friend. She had always tried to be older as well. The use of the word "mingling" was one such attempt. She had heard James use it a few weeks before and had endeavoured to include it in common speech as much as possible. She was confident with her superiors, but not always with her peers. She had always got along with Arthur, however. Arthur, conversely, was a quiet child. He was a private person, sharing emotions and personal information with either his father, Amata or Jonas only. He was well mannered and intelligent, taking after his father. He had adopted an English accent through prolonged exposure to his father, but it suited him well and added a certain weight to the otherwise 1950's speakeasy dialect that ran rampant through the vault, peaking with the DeLoria family. He held Amata above all others his own age. He confided within her and the two had formed the bond James had been hoping for. The two were inseparable friends, and their activities were always done together. Amata walked over to her father and sat there, hands on her knees, waiting patiently for Arthur to return.

Arthur walked over to Stanley, who was sat on one of the stools by the bar.

"Happy Birthday, young Master Wellesley!" the Andy the robot bellowed. "Attention everyone," the robot announced, "it's time to cut the cake!"

From the other side of the room Amata's head snapped around, "Andy no!" she cried, but to no avail. The robot started up its rotor blade and massacred its way through the cake. What was left was battered icing and ground up cake.  
>"Oh no…" Amata said sadly.<p>

The robot hovered over to Arthur. "I am… mortified about the cake mishap… simply mortified, Master Wellesley," the robot said. If robots could have emotions, it would have sounded upset.

"It's okay, Andy, don't worry," Arthur reassured.

"Splendid! Now if Sir has no further requests, I have a certain task I need to perform…" Andy shuddered as he flew away, equipping a plunger from his inbuilt tool cabinet. Arthur laughed at the slightly deranged machine and walked over to Stanley who was also laughing at the Robot.

"I tell yah, every time I fix the damn thing, he goes and flies into a wall or electrocutes himself. Every time I see him, something's hanging off. Anyways kid, Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you Stanley, did you fix my Pip-Boy yourself?"

"Yeah. I know some people say the A series is a bit basic, but I've always preferred them for their reliability. Here, let me fit it onto you. It'll take a minute and you'll feel a sting, but it's just the biometric seals going around, don't worry about it. Now hold tight son."

Stanley brought the Pip-Boy around Arthur's arm, it felt loose at first but Stanley pulled out a small multi-tool and inserted it into the console. The machine made a whirring noise as it slowly clamped around Arthur's forearm. At first it felt tight, and then it seemed to loosen slightly to a comfortable pressure, gripping lightly but firmly on Arthur's forearm. Then the machine beeped twice. Then a louder whirring sound activated and Arthur felt something pierce his skin underneath the pip boy.

"Arrrgh!" Arthur cried.

"Don't worry son, it's just the sensors entering your arm. It will measure your heart rate and overall condition. Quite ingenious if you ask me! And 'ahem' I added some 'improvements' to yours. It tells your hydration and other such statistics, also there's a small port on the front where you can administer drugs and things straight to your bloodstream, but you shouldn't know about those yet so for the meanwhile, it's standard. Just get used to it kid, you can't get it off again," Stanley smiled at the cringing child.

"Oh, and here, take your mind off pain," Stanley pulled out a baseball cap. Arthur took it with his undamaged right arm. He slid the interface glove over his left arm and admired his new 'responsibility'. He really did like his new Pip-Boy, but the pain was subtracting from the experience.

"Thanks Stanley," Arthur grimaced.

"Eh, don't mention it son. Now go on, I'm sure there other people you need to talk to." Arthur nodded and walked off, clutching his gauntleted arm.

He walked over to the Overseer. He had hoped the Overseer had walked off in attendance to his duties, and so wouldn't have to navigate the minefield of possible discussion with him.

"Hello, Overseer," Arthur stated as officially as possible.

"Ah, hello young man. I hope you appreciate the effort Amata put into this party. She really seems to like you… for some reason." Arthur was expecting the usual 'happy birthday sport' or 'champ' or some such suffix, but he hadn't expected a lecture off the Overseer.

"Of course I do, Sir. Did you not help her?" he inquired. The Overseer took visible offence to the question, treating it more of an accusation.

"I do not allow the fact the fact that Amata is my daughter to compromise my position as Overseer. I gave her all the appropriate paternal encouragement, of course, but I could not contribute extra Vault resources. That is simply what my position requires, no more, no less. I know Amata understands that perfectly well."

The Overseer stared at Arthur, and Arthur felt himself get shorter.

"Very well, I have to tend to my other guests, have a nice day, Sir" Arthur said, replying to the Overseer's cold tone with his own attempted rendition. The Overseer simply turned away. Arthur walked off feeling dejected. Amata listened into the whole conversation, and she decided her father was out of order.

"Daddy," she commanded, "I know you were joking, but I'm not sure anyone else did," she said sternly. The Overseer was mollified by his daughter's comment. She had the real beginnings of a leader.

"Nonsense, people always love my speeches. Besides, that friend of your is not all fun and games."

Amata groaned in frustration, "This is meant to be a party! You know? Fun? You should try it sometime daddy, you might like it," She said sarcastically.

She then went to sit down next to her father, not saying anything to him. In the background, Arthur could hear Butch talking with his friends about cheese or something, he hadn't been paying enough attention to know, neither did he possess the incentive either. More than likely is was just Butch drivelling on.

Arthur walked away from the situation as quickly as he could. He saw the old lady, Mrs. Palmer, walking over to him. She clearly wanted to wish him happy birthday. He had always liked Mrs. Palmers; she was always kind and always tried to make him smile.

"Are you having a nice party?" She said smiling down at the boy. "Ten years old. My, my, my… Seems like only yesterday your daddy came- Goodness! Listen to me ramble! You're waiting for your present aren't you?" She said. The comment about her father had confused Arthur, but put it down to an old ladies meandering conversational links.

"Oh, Mrs. Palmer, you didn't have to bring a present."

"Nonsense, what little boys don't like presents? I was ten once, believe it or not. The Vault was practically crowded back then. Not like today, so few young people now."

Arthur listened intently, his father had always taught him to respect his elders, "They are worthy of your respect, because one day you will be the same as them and you will know why. You will see son," his father had told him.

"But here I am, rambling on again, and you listening so politely," Arthur gave a look as to say 'it's not polite, it's interesting,' though he would rather be talking to Amata any day.

"Here you go! A nice sweet roll I baked for you just this morning!" She took her hand out from her handbag and gave it to Arthur. Arthur was pleased by the present, he always like the baking of Mrs. Palmer and took it politely.

"And it's all for you, no sharing required today!" she smiled as she went back to reading her magazine. Arthur pocketed the wrapped up sweet and walked over to Amata to give her a piece of it when Butch shouted up to him.

"I'm hungry and that stupid robot destroyed the cake! Gimme that sweet roll you got from Old Lady Palmer!" Arthur stood there surprised by Butch and somewhat intimidated.

"I'm sorry Butch, it contains intelligence, you wouldn't like it," Arthur replied.

"You little Punk! I'm more smarter than you! Wait until I get hold of you!" Butch leapt from his seat and chased after Arthur. Arthur had already ran from him as he rose from his seat and ran towards Officer Gomez. Officer Gomez stood from his seat.

"Butch! Stop right there! Now!"

His eyes frowned upon Butch as the child looked to the floor, avoiding the glower of the Officer. Gomez looked over to Arthur who was stood behind him for protection.

"Are you alright son?" he said warmly. "I hope Butch didn't hurt you. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Arthur weighed up his choices. He knew Butch already had two misdemeanours on his record and a third would mean he would go on curfew from 4 P.M. to 7 A.M. the following morning for two whole months. Arthur was going to answer that he had provoked Butch but then he realised that with Butch gone, Amata and he could go up to the atrium or the playing halls without him pestering them. There would be less confrontation so Arthur settled with the getting Butch banned.

"Butch tried to take my sweet roll," he said as innocently as possible, knowing full well that he was at least a little to blame.

"Why that little… I figured it was him who started it," Arthur felt a slight pang of guilt, but it served Butch right. "He's been nothing but trouble since the day he was born. Let me handle this and try to stay out of the way."

Officer Gomez walked over to Butch and began issuing his misdemeanour. "Two months suspended privileges," Gomez started.

Arthur walked away having mixed feelings. At least Butch would be gone for two whole months.

Arthur walked over to Amata who had been talking with Stanley. "Hi, I'm all done now. Want to go and play? I've got a sweet roll we can share!" Arthur said excitedly with Amata giving him a smile.

"Sure! I just need to say goodbye to my Daddy. I'll be right back."

Amata walked over to her father and said goodbye as the Overseer left the room. Amata walked back over.

"Okay, he's gone. Want to play Dwellers and Wastelanders?"

"Sure, but I'm the Dwellers!"

Amata sighed, "Fine, but only because it's your birthday!" she giggled.

They ran into the halls and begun pretend firing at each other. Arthur ran up the stairs and held his arms triumphantly.

"It's over, Amata! I hold the high ground!" At that moment he heard the Overseer's voice. Arthur signalled for Amata to come quietly. Above them on another flight of stairs stood the Overseer talking to Officer Kendal.

"I only showed up for the Brat that Amata is friends with. Give it a few more minutes then I want that place cleaned up and everyone back to work. A complete waste of resources if you ask me."

"Yes, Sir."

Amata felt awful, she turned to Arthur who was clearly dejected by what he just heard. He looked as upset as he could be without crying. Amata stood there next to him unsure of what to do.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's just that Daddy is so official about everything. I'm sure Daddy didn't mean it," she knew he probably did and she knew that Arthur was thinking the same.

"Shall we go back to the Canteen?" she asked.

"I guess," Arthur replied.

They wandered back to the Canteen, not a word spoken between them. Amata didn't know how to react, anything she said might elicit a bad response. Silence was the answer. They reached the Canteen and found a seat and sat down in it.

"How was your day?" Amata finally asked.

"It's been good, I guess. Got this sweet for us," Arthur said unwrapping the roll and breaking it in half for them both. "Butch wanted it from me. He has got two months short curfew now."  
>"Really?" Amata laughed and giggled, "Serves him right for being such a jerk. On your own birthday as well," she said indignantly.<p>

"It's not all his fault," Arthur said. "He must have been born backwards," he joked, lightening his mood.

Amata laughed. "Yeah, his face is the last thing anyone wanted to see!" Amata joked. Amata had a way of making Arthur feel happy.

"I had better go and speak to my Dad, he's probably wondering what I have got. I'll be back in a minute," Arthur said.

"Okay, I'll be here," she said as she started to eat her half of the role, wishing Arthur would be quick.

Arthur smiled back and walked towards his father. His father had been on the intercom and Arthur had heard Jonas' voice on the other end.

"Hey," James started, "that was Jonas on the intercom. He and I have been cooking up a little surprise present. Jonas is waiting for you downstairs on the Reactor Level. I don't think anyone would mind if you slipped out for a few minutes," James suggested.

Arthur walked down the stairs and over the Reactor Rooms. Within stood Jonas waiting for him with a sly look across his face.

"Hello, Jonas," Arthur said.

Jonas gave Arthur a questioning look. "What are you doing down here young man? I thought kids weren't allowed down on the reactor level," he questioned, with false suspicion invading his face.

"My father told me to come down here and I'm not a child any more Jonas!" Arthur said confused and defensively.

Jonas laughed at the comment. "You sure aren't. Pip-Boy and everything, look at that! If you can wait just one more minute, I think your father wants to give you the surprise himself," Jonas said looking towards the stairs.

A moment later James walked down, holding something behind his back.

"Are you ready for your surprise?" James asked inciting excitement into Arthur.

"What kind of surprise?!" asked a very excited Arthur.

"The Overseer gave you your Pip-Boy and you're old enough to do some work, so I figured you're old enough for this... your own BB gun!" James said proudly as he pulled the gun from behind his back.

"It's a little old but it should work perfectly. Jonas found it down here; it was in pretty rough shape. Took us a good few months to find the parts to get it working again. You know how hard it is to find a spring that small?" James began laughing. "It's a good job Butch 'misplaced' his switchblade. So what do you think?" James asked happily, proud of Jonas' find and his own work. "Want to give it a try?" James hinted.

"Here? We can't shoot a gun here?" Arthur replied.

"We sure can't," James replied, "unless we want the Overseer beating down our door. Jonas and I have found a place though. Come on, it's in the service tunnels."

James set off down one of the many side passages which littered the maintenance levels. They proceeded down a tunnel to find a makeshift shooting range, complete with self-resetting targets. Arthur was overjoyed, his father and Jonas had clearly put a lot of effort into his present, and Arthur knew it.

"Well, what do you think? You can come down here and shoot, anytime you want!"

Arthur was amazed. How did the Overseer not find out about this? That was the amazing part of it all. He always knew everything.

"Thanks dad, this is great! I'll come down here all the time!" Arthur said overjoyed.

"Couldn't have done it without Jonas' help!" James said, looking back at Jonas who modestly waved him off. "You make sure to thank him."

Arthur walked over to Jonas. "Happy Birthday, Buddy," he said happily.

"Thanks Jonas. I just want to say thank you, this is the best birthday present ever!"

"Hey, you don't turn 10 every day! Now go on and let me see you shoot something!"

Arthur smiled as he turned around and took aim with his rifle. He cocked it once and fired at the target which let out a ring and span around. He aimed at the next one and fired again, hitting the mark in the centre, and did the same with the final one. Then, Arthur heard a scurrying sound from the right and looked over. From the darkened passage came a Radroach.

"Careful," James warned, "that's a Radroach, think you can handle it?"

Arthur was slightly surprised by his father. He had always advocated calm and tactful decision making, but Arthur wasn't going to consult his morals over a Radroach. He fired twice. The first round bounced harmlessly off the insect's carapace. Arthur adjusted, aiming into the gaps between the armour. He fired and the pellet went straight into the insect, killing it instantly.

"Good work! That's one less Radroach to deal with," James beamed. "Let's get a picture together, capture the moment," He said to his son smiling.

"Hey Jonas, get a picture of me and the 'Big-Game-Hunter.'" Jonas nodded and retrieved his camera from the side. James stood by Arthur's side and put his arm on his shoulder.

"Smile," Jonas said as the bright flash went off.

James looked down to his son. "I hope you have had a good day. I know your mother would have been very proud of you," James said softly as he knelt down to his son's height. "Now, just don't go telling the overseer about this little secret okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Arthur replied, "but can I show Amata? She won't tell the Overseer, I promise."  
>James paused to think for a second.<p>

"Okay, but you must swear her to secrecy, the Overseer mustn't know of this place, I'm sure it breaks all sorts of his 'rules and regulations,'" James mocked.

"Thanks dad, you're the best!" Arthur said as he hugged his father. James returned the gesture in kind. A BB gun, a shooting gallery and Butch gone for two months, this was turning out to be one of the best birthdays ever.

5 years later

"Slow down, I don't think we are allowed to be here." Arthur whispered silently as Amata crawled ahead in the overhead air ducts.

The pair had spent the day exploring vault after The Overseer had granted Amata access to the vaults maps for the first time. Amata had been eager to search as much as she could, and having found a way to use the air ducts as a means of clandestine travel, Amata had dragged Arthur off on an impromptu exploration of the forbidden areas of the vault.

So far the pair had seen various maintenance areas, deemed of such value only the maintenance crew themselves were allowed where they had been. This would have all seemed very superfluous to James, but the two, always well behaved children, were on a new exciting adventure, and Amata would not hear of the consequences.

Amata, more eager and less apprehensive than Arthur, had been racing about all day. She was attempting to view the inside of the guard room, up on the floor above. The difference in levels caused some embarrassment for her; thus far she had been unable to find an access point into the upper levels.

"You've got us lost. I knew you would." Arthur complained behind her in the claustrophobic, suffocating hot vent.

"I'm not lost." Amata replied sternly. "I'm just… exploring." She insisted.

Amata stopped for a moment; she had thought she had been this way before. Looking around in the maze of vents, it was easy to get lost. Arthur had managed to catch up. He was anxious to leave, fearing the reprisals if his father found what they had been doing. Arthur shuffled his way up to Amata, passing onto the same vent as her.

The vent buckled under their combined weight as the metal groaned erroneously. Amata looked to Arthur with Sheer horror.

"Go back!" she ordered.

Arthur began to nudge himself backwards but it was useless. The metal pins that held the vent into the ceiling came undone and one side of the vent broke away at a 45 degree angle. Amata began to slide out of the vent, scrambling furiously to save herself. Arthur, who was further back, had managed to cross onto another section of the pipe, and, thus, was in relative safety.

Seeing Amata slide from the section of the vent, he lunged forwards, trying to grip her hand. He managed just to grace his fingers across hers as she fell from the pipe section into a stack of cardboard boxes below.

Landing relatively softly, but still rolling off the boxes and onto the floor, Amata managed to scrape her knee on something, feeling the pain beneath her vault suit. Pulling a face of pain, yet skilfully avoiding the urge to cry, Amata rubbed her leg tenderly.

From above, Arthur had shuffled himself back down the precariously hanging section of the vent as he peered over to check on Amata.

"I hope you haven't broken anything." He called cautiously down into the black room.

Amata stood up and switched on her Pipboy to illuminate the black room.

"Whoa…" she echoed. "You've got to see this." She implored from the floor, disregarding that Arthur was half a story above her, and voluntarily jumping from that height was the last thing on Arthur's agenda.

"Erm" he pondered. "I would rather not." He said, looking at the distance to the floor; nothing inconsiderable for a small fifteen year old.

"No, you have to. It's so cool." Amata demanded joyfully, now exploring the dark room.

From Arthur's vantage point, he could only just see a few tables with equipment on; what that equipment was, he had no idea. Arthur edged forward, keen to know what was on the other side of the room that Amata had now wandered over to. He placed on hand carefully on the very edge of the vent's corner as he tried to better his view.

The vent shook violently causing Arthur's carefully placed hand to slip. His body weight, being forward, made him almost roll out of the vent, crashing rather painfully onto a pile of cardboard boxes, as Amata had done.

Arthur stood up and rubbed his arm, the fall having had him land rather awkwardly on it. Amata was some ten metres away, inspecting some table or other. Arthur hurried over to her, keen not to be split up from her.

"What does… F.E.V. mean?" She asked him.

"I am not sure; I think it is a word which has been shortened into that."

"What does initial distribution phase mean?" Amata asked, reading off a label from a vial with a yellow gaseous substance inside.

"I think it means, the start phase of something." Arthur replied, studying the room by himself now, rather more confidently.

Arthur walked over to a large wooden crater, with symbols he did not recognise upon it. As he drew closer, he saw the letters F.E.V again. Arthur had never heard of these letters before; they certainly weren't in his computer's data base, or in his father's lab.

"What do you think this place is?" Amata asked from the other side of the room, finding more vials of the yellow gas, labelled phases one through twelve. "It isn't on my map, and daddy has never mentioned it before." She stated, picking one up to examine it.

Amata was intensely curious to discover what the substance was, and began to unscrew the lid on the vial.

"Don't." Arthur implored from right behind her, making her jolt, throwing the vial into the air.

As if in slow motion, the vial tumbled through the air as it hit the floor. The vial smashed at the bottom as small fragments of glass were thrown across the room. In blind panic, the pair, scared that someone was had heard the vial smash was coming for them, ran for the door. There was a moment of scurrying as the pair attempted desperately to find the door, but Amata quite literally ran into it, bashing her already pained knee on it in the darkness of the lab. Amata called to Arthur, who came running. Suddenly, the door began to open from the other side.

Amata pushed Arthur backwards in yet more panic as he door began to open. The mischievous pair hid behind an old and dusty table as Amata poked her head around the corner, trying to see who was coming through the door.

A great column of light broke through the room as the door opened. Arthur could hear footsteps entering the room as Amata stubbornly refused to hide, wanting to see who it was who had entered.

"It's Stanley." Amata whispered to Arthur.

"Come on, we can run for it now." Amata said as she grabbed Arthur's sleeve and pulled him towards the door.

The pair ran silently to the door, stopping slowly for a moment to see if either Stanley or anyone could see them, inside and outside of the room. Arthur saw Stanley kneel down and pick up the smashed vial. Arthur did not know the evil that was within that vial; but neither did Stanley; the room had been sealed for decades, a century perhaps, and Stanley had never needed to enter the room. So the room sat, unexplored for years; its evil contents lying dormant, though now, it had finally found a host within Stanley.

Arthur and Amata ran from the room as quickly as they could; both fearful of their fathers knowing. They ran around the corner and stopped, breathing from all the excitement.

"I told you it was best to have gone back." Arthur complained, breathing heavily.

Amata looked seriously at Arthur, fearing for her future career; her father would not have been best pleased if he had found out about their days escapades. "Do you think he saw us?" she asked.

"No, I think he picked up that glass vial thing." Arthur revealed.

Amata sighed with relief. "Oh good. Daddy would kill him if he found out. Do you think that those vials had anything dangerous in them?" She asked, concerned now for Stanley.

I don't think so. It didn't look like anybody had been in there for years." Arthur replied.

"Okay, good. We should get back to the main part of the vault; I don't want to get caught now." Amata planned as she looked side to side, trying to find anyone who would pose a problem.

"I have to stop following you; one day you will be the death of me." Arthur continued to complain.

The pair set of cautiously, anxious to return to the main area, or at least somewhere that they would no longer be punished. Both of them later agreed never to talk of this area of the vault again; lest it be revealed by The Overseer's all-knowing ear.

Inside the condemned room, Stanley wiped his nose with his hand. Unbeknownst to him, small fragments of the F.E.V. was placed into close proximity to a viable entry way. The virus was subtle, undetectable for years in such a dose; yet the seeds of Stanley's demise were inevitable now; like a cancer, the virus would spread through his body, killing or mutating his cells in a horrendous way.

Many of the pre-war scientists likened the premature effects to a tumour, but it would be far, far worse an ending for Stanley, should the F.E.V. develop.


	2. A Cause For Concern

Semper Eadem

Semper Eadem

Arthur sat on the medical bed while his father rummaged through charts and graphs.

"Blood pressure… nominal… heart rate… consistent. What exactly did you say was wrong with you?" James questioned.

Arthur knew his options were limited. He needed to make himself sound ill but make the illness undetectable, no mere feat, harder still with the un-missing eyes of his father.

"I have a headache and I feel sick somewhat when I stand and read."

James pondered for a moment, though he knew Arthur was lying. Arthur rarely got ill and he had never complained about pain before either.

"Right, I just need to do a few more tests then I can make a conclusion."

Arthur was beginning to suspect his father was onto him. He had been trying to avoid doing the G.O.A.T. all week. He had planned it out meticulously. Firstly, a week before the test he complained about stomach pains, amping up the complaints each day, bringing in more symptoms along with it. This, he hoped, would seem like his complaints were genuine. A fool proof plan he had once thought, but clearly it had a major flaw, he had never expected his father to do a full consultation and had clearly called his bluff. James reached down into his lab coat and pulled an ophthalmoscope from it. He held it up to Arthur's eye, not really inspecting it rather than making a show.

"As far as I can tell you're a perfectly healthy sixteen year old boy. So yes, you have to go to class to take your G.O.A.T. exam. Go on now, you've got a goat to take," he said encouragingly.

Arthur sat there as he realised his carefully orchestrated plan had fallen through.

"If I must," Arthur said grudgingly.

James took offense to this. He perceived Arthur to be blaming him. A state of affairs he wouldn't stand for.

"Hey, you're sixteen now so this year, you take the G.O.A.T. Come on, it's not so bad. Everyone has to take it, you'll do just fine," James said reassuringly.

"Father, I am ill, you must believe me, really," Arthur regretted lying to his father but he was vehemently opposed to doing the test, designed for idiots by idiots.

"No, you're not, really," James said sternly, "When I started learning medicine one of the first things I learnt was how to spot a kid playing ill to get out of a test." James looked at his son, who was visibly nervous about the ordeal, while Arthur looked towards his father displaying a betrayed look.

"You'll do fine, it's not so bad. Everyone has to take it when they're sixteen. I had to, you have to, and so does everyone else. And most everyone makes it through without a scratch."

"Very well," Arthur sighed, "any last minute advice for the G.O.A.T.?"

James looked at his son with an amused face, clearly seeing the test as much a fiasco as his son. "The Generalised Occupational Aptitude Test. G.O.A.T.! Everyone in the Vault takes it when they're sixteen. Helps to figure out what type of job you'll get when you're a bit older. So, pay attention and try not to fall asleep! You know what the Overseer says, 'We're born in the Vault... we die in the Vault. Each is tested to determine their abilities so that they may work for the betterment of all Vault residents,'" James paused for a moment, "Huh, sound familiar?"

Arthur sat there; somewhat depressed by the fact he would never set his foot against organic soil, opposed to the chemically similar but not real soil in the atrium.

"Is it a fact that I have to die in the Vault? There is no alternative to death in the tunnel? Is there no way we can leave?" he questioned.

James tried to suppress such rebellious tendencies; the Overseer would never stand for such insolence.

"That's not the way it works. And it won't do to go around asking questions like that, especially around the Overseer." James looked sternly upon his son. "I want to tell you something now, it's important, so listen closely; this place, this… Vault, it's not perfect, I know, but it is your home. You're safe here. Stay on the Overseers good side and you always will be. You understand? You need to appreciate all you have. Because, what's up there, that's not the life I want for you, and it's not what your mother wanted for you either."

"Are you certain everyone was born in the Vault dad?" Arthur asked.

James was slightly perturbed by this question. It felt like Arthur was after a certain answer or truth, but he couldn't know. Could he? James picked his next words carefully.

"That's what the Overseer says, doesn't he? He's not about to let anyone else in so I guess that's how it's going to have to be. You're here now and it's a hell of a lot better than being out there. All your mother and I ever wanted was for you to be safe, and you're safe here." James said with a touch of finality.

Arthur sat there taking in his words. To him, the way he was wording his sentences made it sound like there was people who came into the vault, aside from the original residents, but he pushed the thought aside.

"Dad, can we talk about my mum, you know?" Arthur said carefully.

James stopped all motion for a moment as he thought back to his wife.

"She… She was beautiful," James had averted his eyes, looking slightly left and down from Arthur, clearly lost in thought, "but beyond any beauty you've ever seen. There's just so much those old photos can never show." James knew he was doing her no justice by his words, and he knew words could never describe her as perfectly as she was. "And she was passionate, passionate about life, about love. But most of all, most of all she was passionate about you. When she became pregnant it was the happiest I had ever seen her." James lost himself deep in thought. "She had great things in mind for you…" James suddenly realised that he was carrying on this chat longer than he had expected. "And so," he gently snapped from his thoughts, "Time for you to get to class. Son, please take these achievement tests seriously. The last thing I need is your Mother's ghost haunting me because her only child became a.. a.. a garbage burner!"

"Alright, Dad. I'll do my best. I'll see you later," Arthur said as he slid off the gurney and walked through the door. He saw Jonas and said hello.

"Oh, hey there, Sport. Not seen you around here in a while," Jonas said.

"I've been busy with revision for this damned G.O.A.T.," Arthur said bitterly.

Jonas laughed, remembering his exam. "Don't worry about it Arthur, whatever happens, happens. Look, I gotta run but good luck today. Tell me how it goes," Jonas said as he manoeuvred to leave.

"I certainly will," Arthur said as he walked from the room.

Arthur walked to class looking out for Amata. She had agreed to meet him in the morning and they would go to class together. He was still looking out for Amata when he neared the classroom. From the corridor, he could hear Butch around the corner, laughing at some stupid remark. Arthur stopped and placed his back to the wall and approached the corner, keeping out of sight.

"I can show you a real 'tunnel snake', Amata!" Arthur heard.

That had to be Butch, only he could make such a crass comment. Arthur knew instantly what was happening and he knew Amata couldn't deal with them on her own. Arthur took a breath and decided to intervene. Arthur wasn't particularly strong, but neither was he weak. He had a slim, tall figure that lacked the muscles of Butch but contained the same level of strength. He rounded the corner and walked over to Amata who was giving him a desperate look.

"Oh, look, it's the book worm," Butch said aggressively.

Arthur simply smiled and said, "Good morning, Butch, I trust that infection you had has passed now? It looked rather serious when my father showed me. Horrible colour of green, one might observe."

Arthur's comment sent Butch recoiling. He was commenting upon the infection Butch had picked up on his upper thigh. Arthur had seen his file one day when he came in to see his dad at the surgery.

"Bullshit! You don't know anything! Lover Boy here is just making shit up!" Butch defended.

Arthur knew he had him on the ropes. "Do tell me, Butch, does it still itch? That cream my father gave you was potent stuff," Arthur stated dryly.

"You little shit; I'd kick the shit out of you if Mr. 'Crotch' wasn't in there now. C'mon boys, this little Bitch isn't worth our time," Butch retaliated as he walked away with his goons in suit.

"How original of you Butch, inspired, truly. Have a nice day," Arthur said victoriously. He was grinning widely as he turned to Amata, who had a similar look on her face.

"God, what a bunch of assholes," She said surpassing the urge to laugh. "Does he really have that thing?" She inquired hoping for a yes.

"Oh, but of course. The most grotesque thing you will ever see. You should know Amata, I never tell a lie," he joked.

Amata laughed, "I know, but, well, it sounded made up. I guess he will be avoiding us for a while," she smiled.

"I certainly hope so. However, we have a test to take," he said, ending the laughs. "We had better go; we don't want to miss it. Ladies first," he said as he gestured with his arm. Amata giggled a little and walked through.

"Morning Mr. Brotch," Arthur said unhappily.

Mr. Brotch sighed, "Well, you made it. All set for the G.O.A.T.?" he asked.

"Is it really necessary that we do this test? I mean, it's hardly a good principle to base one test on the rest of our lives. What if, god forbid, Butch flukes it and becomes the Overseer?" Arthur questioned.

Mr Brotch laughed, "Between you and me kid, if that happened I'd rig it so he'd be on cleaning duty for the rest of his life. Come on, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine. Test is about to start so take a seat and we'll start in a minute."

Arthur replied with a simple 'okay' and took his seat. He sat there worrying about his future; he didn't want to let his father down. He had prepared but no amount of preparation can prepare you for the unknown.

Mr. Brotch took his place at the head of the classroom and cleared his though.

"Now, that everyone has managed to find the classroom, we can finally get started. No talking, and keep your eyes to yourselves." From the back of the room, Arthur could hear Butch laughing. Mr. Brotch sighed, "Yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. DeLoria."

"Sure thing, Mr. Brotch," Butch replied sweetly. "If anyone else has an insightful comment, let's get started," said Mr. Brotch.

Arthur looked down to his paper which was a simple multiple choice tick box style exam.

"Awfully simple to be writing my life upon it," Arthur thought cynically.

"Question one; _a frenzied Vault Scientist runs up to you and yells, 'I'm going to put my Quantum Harmoniser in your Photonic Resonation Chamber!'_ What do you do?"

Arthur looked at the paper bewildered and thought, 'What an absurd question? Who in god's earth would come across that situation?' Arthur looked at the paper and saw the answers. It was ridiculous. The answers were either blatantly obvious or ridiculously immature. Arthur decided to go with the more intelligent approach and answer the questions which seemed the most logical.

One question prompted the decision 'throw grannies tea in her face,' which made Arthur think this test had been written by Butch himself. Arthur passed through the tests questions, coming to question ten. As if coming from _Dictatorship International_ itself, the final question gave an applause to the Overseer and gave only one option. Well, there was to be no other options in the one party state that was Vault 101. However, Arthur was tempted to write his father's name down. The Overseer had never saved anyone's life, but his father certainly had. 'Aptitude tests, my arse' thought Arthur as he rose from his seat. Arthur glanced over to Amata and gave her a weary look. She responded in kind. They walked over to Mr. Brotch, who was sat at his desk marking Butch's paper.

Mr. Brotch was clearly enjoying himself. "Hairdresser! Who wouldda thunk it?" he said happily.

"You're so full of it!" Butch briefly protested as he walked off.

Next in line was Amata. "Here you are, Mr. Brotch."

"Ah, Miss Almodovar. My top student. Let me see."

Mr. Brotch paused as he looked over the paper.

"Just as I thought, you're on the supervisory track. Am I looking at the next Overseer? I think so. Congratulations."

"Oh, wow!" Amata said genuinely surprised. "Thank you, Mr. Brotch," Amata said happily.

"Not a problem," he replied. Arthur walked up to the desk.

"Here you are, Sir." Arthur passed the paper down to him. Mr. Brotch looked at the paper for a second.

"Congratulations Mr. Wellesley. Vault Medical Intern. You'll be working with your father and Jonas. A result to be proud of."

Arthur was pleasantly surprised too. "Oh, thank you, Sir. This is the best result I could have asked for. Thank you," He said as he trailed after Amata.

Amata had heard the whole thing and was smiling at him as he approached. "Hey, well done," she said, giving him a hug.

He returned in kind, but with his own uncomfortable rendition. A hug with fists clenched shut. Arthur was superficially comfortable around women but physical contact with them made him uncomfortable. He was never really at ease with Amata on a physical level, though he prized her like no other. He had feelings for her, no doubt. He loved her platonically, but he couldn't help but feel attracted to her. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. She had loving hazel eyes. She had a face like no other person in the vault but above all, her personality was second to none. She was funny, charming, intelligent and she cared for Arthur like no other. Arthur was a remarkably stoic character, not really showing his personality on every day correspondence with anyone but Amata. She was his emotional crutch and he was hers. They shared everything between themselves and guarded the other from harm, no matter what form it came in. He loved her as a friend and maybe more. But he could never admit it. Not to her or anyone else. There were too many variables involved. After all, what if she didn't feel the same way? They walked down to the canteen and found a seat. It was deserted. This time of the day everyone was working 'for the betterment of all Vault residents.'

They sat opposite each other and began talking about their results.

"You must be pleased with your results, Ma'am," Arthur joked.

Arthur's English dialect showed through again, pronouncing ma'am with longer a's than the American version. Amata looked at him.

"Well, I could get used to this. No wonder my father is so power hungry," she laughed.

"Perhaps madam would like a drink?" Arthur offered.

"Oh, why I would be most appreciable for such an offer," she replied.

"Then allow me to oblige you, Ma'am," he said as he walked over to the counter.

It was clear the two were flirting with each other, but both would deny it. Amata felt the same way about Arthur as he did her. She relied upon him more than her own father. He was tall, handsome and was soon to be in the second most illustrious internship in the Vault, behind her of course. Amata always knew she fancied Arthur. His eyes always seemed so attractive and his mysterious façade that only she knew how to penetrate gave him a romantic appeal like no other. However, she placed Arthur's personality above his looks. He was modest, well mannered, polite, but mysterious about nearly everything he did. He was incredibly intelligent, shown by his new vault position and the way he carried himself in such a dignified manner and his English accent served only to increase Amata's opinion of him. Arthur returned to the table passing her an orange juice with a little umbrella in it.

"For a special occasion," he laughed.

"Thanks," she said. "I bet your father will be happy with the result," she said sipping on her drink.

"Oh, but of course. I know he would deny it, but any job other than his would have disappointed him. Damned good luck though. That test was a farce. I've never seen such a shocking thing in all my life," he said.

Amata nodded, "Yeah, it was pretty bad. Don't worry though, when I'm overseer, I'll reform the whole system," she nudged Arthur.

"Good, we need someone with a conscience to run this place, instead of someone who is obsessed with numbers and statistics," he said looking at her eyes.

She smiled back. "I can't believe that Butch has got the job of a hairdresser. Justice for once," she said bitterly.

Arthur laughed probably a bit too much at the thought of Butch plaiting and braiding hair. "Perhaps he can experiment with your hair. I'm sure he will do a stellar job," he jested.

"I don't get why he's such an ass to us both?" Amata said.

"Probably because we're such good friends. If you got picked on I wouldn't stand for it and it would implement me with you. Not that I mind of course," He suggested. Amata thought this over and agreed with him.

"I just wish he would piss off with his 'Tunnel Snakes,' I'm sick of them. It's not like I can use my Father to get at him either. What, because I'm the Overseer's daughter I get some special treatment? No, I don't get anything but more abuse from that dickhead."

Arthur could see Amata was getting worked up. He extended his hand onto hers, a bold gesture for someone who actively avoided hugs.

"Don't worry about it. If we let those gibbons annoy us all the time, we would be debarred from being ourselves. A state of affairs I'm keen to avoid." Amata knew Arthur was right.

"I guess you're right, but still. Anyway, thank you. I know I get worked up but it's just infuriating that I can't do anything about it," She said. Arthur smiled back at her.

"Perhaps we could spread some of those pictures of Butch's leg. It's ghastly stuff, I assure you," He nefariously suggested.

Neither of them had noticed but Arthur's hand was still on Amata's. He looked down at it and quickly retracted it. He stood up and indicated towards the door, keen to avoid the awkwardness which ensued.

"Come on, we should tell our fathers of what we have been allocated. I'm sure they will be happy. Who knows, we might even be allocated 'extra vault resources, maybe even a cake!'" Arthur joked.

Amata laughed and walked alongside him, walking towards James office.

_**2 Years Later**_

Arthur sat at his desk looking over the data they had pulled from the biopsy. He was trying to find out if the growth was malignant or not. If it was, it would be big trouble for Stanley. He sat there pouring over the charts, one after the other. It wasn't cancer, but it was dangerous, whatever it was. James was somewhat confused about it too. He had Arthur spend the last week pouring through medical text books with Jonas trying to find some mention of it. Arthur had been an intern at the surgery for the past two years and was faring well. Under his father's guidance, he had become a talented proto-doctor and was picking the profession up fast. Impressing his father and Jonas greatly.

"Any luck?" His father said over his shoulder.

"Not as of yet," Arthur said still staring at the charts, "I don't know what it is, I don't think it's inherently dangerous as it is, but if it obstructs something in his oesophagus or trachea then he will have a problem. It explains why his breathing has been so sporadic but I can't find out what the growth is, if it's harmful or if it will return. I think we should run a radioactive solution through him and track the passage of blood, perhaps it has a connection," Arthur stated.

"Good idea, but before we start messing around with radioactive compounds I want to know if it's going to return or not. Take a break, Pal. Have the day off, you've been working hard these past few days."

Arthur sat back in his chair and finally looked to his father, "Alright then. For today. I'll come back in later and check up on him."

"Alright son, I'll see if I can't find any relation. See you later." With that Arthur stood up and walked out of the surgery. He looked at his Pip-Boy and used the inbuilt messaging service to message Amata.

"I've been freed from work for today. Are you free? I could use with a chat."

Arthur sent the message and walked down to his quarters. He walked into his bedroom and got changed out of his medical equipment and into his vault suit. He sat down on his bed and looked at his Pip-Boy. He had no reply of Amata and it had been twenty minutes since he messaged her. She must have been working on her projects. He decided that there was no point in wasting time and opened his Pip-Boy's medical files. He began to scroll through every known ailment, trying to find a match to Stanley's condition.

Amata was by her father looking over the stocks of the Vault.

"We must ration the water from 6 litres ration per day down to 3 per day per head. The filtration system is simply not up to the task of producing such quantities of water without the maintenance of Stanley. And judging by the incompetence of James and his staff, he will be absent from his role for a long time," the Overseer said to Amata who was scribbling notes down onto the notepad she had.

Her father sat at his desk dictating to her.

"See to it that the sixteen operational filtration units are maintained by the remaining staff. They may lack the competence of Stanley but their actions should avert any major problems for the meanwhile."

"I'm done now, Father. Is there anything else?" she asked politely. The Overseer paused for a moment.

"Have you sent security teams to Butch DeLoria's room with a search warrant?" he asked.

"Yes, Father. They are scheduled to arrive at 05:00 hours tomorrow morning," she stated looking at one of the notes.

"Ah, excellent. I must admit Amata, you are surpassing my expectations. I make sure that people who act in the vaults interests are well rewarded. You may have the day off if you so choose," he said, clearly thinking the gesture was an act of magnanimity.

"I would Father. I shall have my report on the DeLoria raid ready for you tomorrow at 13:00. I'll see you later," she stood up and walked towards the door. She had been working hard for the past few days. Stanley had contracted some illness and without his irreplaceable skills, there was something of a miniature crisis regarding supplies and her father needed her help drafting in the extra manpower. She looked at her Pip-Boy and saw she had a message from Arthur. It had been sent nearly an hour earlier. She read it and messaged back.

"Hi, I've been given the day off too. I'm free now if you still are?"

She hoped he was, she hadn't seen Arthur for nearly two days and missed him. Barely a minute later she felt her Pip-Boy buzz. Arthur had replied.

"I'm still free now. Shall I meet you in my quarters?"

She replied with, "Yeah, okay. I'll be there in a moment."

She stopped for a second, looking at her reflection in the mirror and seeing the tired eyes of an overworked employee. 'I'll have to get some sleep' she thought to herself. God knows what Arthur will think.

She found Arthur's quarters and let herself in. Arthur was sat on his bed looking equally exhausted. He glanced up at her, the two meeting weary eyes.

"Good day, come in. You well and truly look spent," he said sympathetically.

"Yeah, my father's been making me work three hours overtime each day for the past week."

Arthur looked at her, she really did look tired. "You can have a sleep in my bed if you want. I know if you go back to yours the overseer will accuse you of slacking, rather than using your recreational time 'productively,'" he mocked.

Amata found the offer tempting, "No I couldn't, it's your bed plus you look as if you need it as much as me."

Arthur shook his head.

"No, honestly I insist. Please, I'll get you a drink and you can have a sleep. Don't worry about it; I'll sleep on a chair or find some other such arrangement."

Amata found it strange that Arthur never liked being in close personal contact, with even her.

"You know, we can just share the bed together," she hinted. She wasn't meaning sexually, she was merely trying to get Arthur to break his rule of contact. Arthur, however, looked more than a little shocked by this proposal.

"I couldn't possibly, what would the others say and think? Who knows what they will postulate!" he said indignantly. "No, a chair is fine for me," he said stating his ground.

"Oh, come on Arthur. You know nothing's going to happen like that. The rooms out of view and no one will come in. I couldn't sleep in the bed while you're on the chair. Please, for me," She pleaded.

Arthur thought about it. He was tired and the bed was inviting, and with Amata there it would be a comfort. But his body resisted. 'You need to get over this irrational habit Arthur' he thought.

"Very well. I will share the bed with you," He said defeated.

"Good. I told you I would break these bad habits of yours!" she said triumphantly.

"Being a gentleman is no bad habit," he retorted but inside he knew it was petty. Plus, who knew, this could be a start of something that he could use to tell Amata how he truly felt about her. He walked into his small kitchen and brought in two glasses of water for the both of them. They both drank thirstily.

"Oh, there's a water ration restriction for the foreseeable future. Better stock up. It's in effect on Monday.

"Bloody hell, I won't be able to have a shower now," Arthur said. "Damn it all, you'll just have to put up with me smelling," he joked.

"As if I don't already," Amata said teasing him. They both passed smiles between each other.

"Come on then, I'm exhausted, let's get some sleep," Amata said.

They both lay down on the bed, under the sheets. Arthur was keen to place a sizable amount of land between the two of them but Amata shuffled closer each time he moved away.

"You're bloody persistent. Did you know that?" he said grumpily.

"Oh, but of course!" she said mocking his accent.

She leant over and kissed him on the cheek softly, something she had never done before, and closed her eyes as her head touched the pillow again, smiling slightly. Arthur would have thought it through to no end, analysing every detail of her action but he was drifting to sleep before he could say anything, and so was she.

Arthur woke up from his dreamless sleep. The room was stifling. The radiator was turned off but it was throwing out a large amount of heat. Arthur looked over to Amata who was still fast asleep, but looking quite sweaty. He decided to take her blanket off her to cool her down and set about trying to fix the radiator. Usually Stanley fixed such problems but he wasn't around for the time being. Plus, Arthur had a working knowledge of the Vault's systems, enough to know that the water used in cooling the reactor was also used to heat the vault. He knelt down to the radiator. The valve has probably gone in it, he thought. He tried tightening the screw which led into the valve but nothing happened. Defeated, he reached up to the ceiling and switched on the air conditioning. He looked at his Pip-Boy, it was five o'clock which meant they had been asleep for two hours. Arthur usually hated naps, he always woke up slightly confused and felt like he had missed part of the day. He looked over to Amata who was in the process of waking up.

"Good evening," he said, looking into her red eyes.

She squinted at the light, "What time is it?" she croaked.

"Just gone five. My father is probably wondering where we are," he said.

Amata stood up unsteadily and walked over to Arthur.

"We should go and find him. We should check up on Stanley as well."

"Good idea," Arthur admitted as they set off out of the room and down to the surgery.

"Did you sleep okay?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, apart from you waking me up by kicking me twice," she said.

"Well, it was your idea," he said defensively.

"I know. But yes I did, thank you. Did you?"

"I don't particularly like siestas but it was okay as far as they go… aside from you hoarding the blanket," he joked.

"Hey! I don't hoard anything! It's not my fault you sleep like a frog…" Arthur was going to reply when suddenly the Vault shook slightly. Little particles of dust fell from the sealing, coating the two in a fine layer of powder.

"What was that?" Amata asked slightly worried.

"I haven't the foggiest," he replied. "My father, he might know," he said.

They walked at a slightly quicker pace to his office. They found his father sat at his desk looking around the room.

"Did you feel that too?" he asked them.

"Yes. We don't know what it is," Amata replied.

Stanley stumbled over from his bed in the recovery room. "Amata, Arthur, I need you to go down to the Reactor Level and check everything is alright," He said pale faced, "when you get there, message me what you find. Check the computer and type in 'Rslt 481516'. That's a systems check. Tell me what it says please. And hurry!"

Arthur typed in the code into his Pip-Boy and nodded.

"Do you know what that was?" James asked urgently.

"No, I don't. But I just want to be sure," Stanley replied, clearly trying to reassure James.

"Alright, we'll go now. I'll open communications when we are down there," Arthur said as he hurried out with Amata.

James stood in the room silently with Jonas and Stanley.

"I think it's the power," Stanley said. "I don't think the power was regulated enough. Only Andy is down there at the moment. Who knows what's happened," he said distressed.

Amata and Arthur ran down the hallway and down the flights of stairs approaching the Reactor. They could see thick white steam billowing out from the room adjacent. In the corner of the room was Andy, struggling to work the reactor.

"Andy! What's going on here?" Arthur demanded.

"Ah, Master Wellesley. All is well I trust? The same cannot be said about this situation here, I lament to say. There's rather a dire situation unfolding at the moment. You see, I have been tasked with monitoring the reactor; certainly I don't mind my new task, I think Chief Engineer suits me rather well. Don't you agree? Regardless, it would appear that I am under qualified for such a role. There was slight, err, catastrophic problem with the coolant systems. It would appear that the coolant backed up in the pipes and has caused a 'Water hammer' effect."

"What's a 'water hammer' effect?" Arthur asked hastily.

Amata knew what it was, she had been studying all the systems of the Vault for the past year.

"It's when the water comes into contact with a super-hot object and expands so quickly it acts like an explosion," She said to Arthur with a degree of urgency.

"Correct Miss Almodovar. I must say you are turning into rather the competent administrator. I must inform, Sir, that while the Reactor itself is fully operational; it would appear that the damage has caused substantial damage to the filtration system, as the emergency ventilation systems redirect water to the filters to ease pressure on the reactor."

Arthur pushed past Andy and ran up to the console. He typed in Rslt 481516 into the command prompt and waited. The machine replied with: _Status: Critical. Reactor offline. Backup generators activated. 10 of the 16 major operational filters are inoperable. Pressure build up in pipe systems 21-56 65-95. Seek your nearest Vault Tech maintenance chief. Code 28_

"Andy, how do we stop this?!" Arthur urged.

"Don't look at me. I'm not a mechanic, I'm a butler."

Arthur quickly messaged Stanley the consoles readings. As soon as he sent the message, Arthur could hear loud metallic explosions going off in the vault. Arthur looked at Amata with a dire look on his face, which she returned in kind.

Stanley was sat on his bed waiting for their reply nervously. He wished there was someone else on hand to investigate other than Arthur and Amata but the rest of his staff were working on a method of using gas to eliminate the Rad Roaches in the ventilation systems. He sighed, he hoped Andy hadn't broken something. Parts were scarce down in the Vault.

James walked over to Stanley with a worried expression on their face. "Do you think it's serious?" he asked.

"Hopefully not. The diagnostic will tell us what's happened. Hopefully it's something Andy can sort out. If not, I'll have to go down."

James looked at his patient cautiously. "You have to be careful. The operation was quite serious and I don't want any further damage from strenuous activities. You're not in any state to be working," James advised.

Stanley was about to reply when there was a loud creaking noise above their heads. The pipes in the ceiling were distorting slowly. Jonas came out from his office.

"Er, Doc, I don't mean to trouble you but the radiator is leaking water."

Jonas saw the two of them staring at the pipes in the ceiling. He watched too as he saw the pipes bulge around the seams.

"This is not good…" Stanley said ominously.

At that moment there were six distinct explosions from elsewhere in the vault. All three of them looked around as they saw water gushing from the ceiling. Then, they heard the cries of injured people. In all they could hear at least ten people calling for help. In the background, they heard even more explosions and with a brief glance to one another James and Jonas ran from the room trying to find those in need of help. Stanley sat on his bed, begging for Arthur's diagnostic report to come through. He heard more explosions going off down the hall and more cries. He quickly rose to his feet and inserted a Stimpack into the modified medical port he had made and injected it into himself. He wasn't just going to sit here while people were getting injured. He walked as fast as he could out to the hallway and saw Jonas carrying a resident back to the surgery with a cut on his face bleeding profusely. Stanley jogged to a room and helped a woman who was trapped underneath the remains of a pipe. The pipe had burst in the middle and was still hot to the touch, but Stanley bit his teeth and wrenched the pipe off her and carried her to the surgery, causing great harm to himself in the process.

He placed the woman down on the floor and looked at his Pip-Boy. Arthur had messaged him 'Code 28'. The pipes were going to explode, or rather continue too. There was too much pressure in the system. He needed Arthur to release the systems emergency flood gates.

Arthur felt his arm vibrate and he received Stanley's reply. Amata looked at him unsteadily. By now the entire console which surrounded the reactor was ablaze with warning lights and sirens blared in their ears producing a terrifying morass of blinding light and deafening screams.

'_Go to the filtration room now and open up the emergency override box. In there, you will find a handle. It's currently in passive mode. Pull the handle towards the right until it is in open. Hurry! The system can't take much more of the pressure!_" the message read.

Arthur looked up at Amata. "Do you know where the floodgate override switch is? "he asked calmly. Amata nodded. "Good, I need you to go there now and find the override box. Turn the switch from passive mode to open. I'm going to stay here and keep the coolant from entering the reactor. Hurry and be careful. After that, I don't know what is going to happen so, be careful," he said tensely.

Amata ran from the room and over to the other end of the maintenance floor. She ran into the filter room which by now was flooded waste deep with brown rusted water. She waded through, viewing the carnage which was all around her. Of the twenty filtration systems, four were already offline for maintenance, at least 6 were on fire and 3 were missing almost entirely. The damage was catastrophic. She neared the switch box and opened it, finding the override switch. She grabbed the handle and pulled to the right. The stiff switch wouldn't move.

In a desperate panic, she picked up a piece of metal flotsam and began hitting the handle to the right. Inch by inch it moved until it swung around and activated. The room went dark and Amata heard a small electric motor start up. A flashing orange light illuminated the room and a siren started up. Not knowing what to do Amata stepped back towards the door. Amata could hear the explosions stop, but she was unsure of what was about to happen. Then from the corner of her eye she spotted a large grate built into the wall open up and the water began to drain out.  
>Amata felt relieved as it drained from waist height to knee depth. Amata felt her Pip-Boy buzz. She looked at it; it was a message from Arthur. She opened it and read it: '<em>GET OUT OF THERE<em>'

Amata was confused to say the least, the water was receding, there was no threat.  
>She looked around and began walking towards the door. She heard Arthur running down the corridor shouting for her. A loud roar started behind her, she turned around and looked at a large opening of a pipe across from her. The roar grew louder and louder. She panicked at the sound and began wading towards the door as fast as she could. But it was too late. The pipe ejected hundreds of gallons of water in a second, all highly pressurised, into the room, catching Amata in the back. She was forced over and under the water. She began scrambling for air as the currents bashed her about the room.<p>

Arthur arrived at the door and watched Amata be pulled under. He dived in after her, gashing his hand open on a sharp corner of what was once a filtration unit. He ignored the pain as much as he could as he swam to Amata. She was badly winded from the force of the water and was gasping for air by the time Arthur had reached her. He grabbed her by the hand and together they began swimming towards the door. By now the water was already shoulder height. They struggled to the door, being dragged under once or twice by the current in the process.

Arthur gripped the door by its frame. The door was four feet above the ground and had steps lead down into the room. The water was flowing through the door and Arthur pushed Amata into the outward current, which dragged her out of the flooding room. Arthur did the same to himself as he careened out of the doorway and into the hall. He dragged himself to the door against the force of the oncoming water which was slamming against his torso and pressed the airtight close button on the doors console. The door slid shut and the water quickly dissipated into the small grids lining the corridor.

They both sat there for a minute, regaining their breath. Amata was totally incapacitated. She was bleeding on her arms and legs. She had bruised her face and broken a rib as well as a fractured right arm. Her left leg had a large cut running from her knee to her calf.

Arthur fared little better. He had a laceration on the side of his right hand which would need stitches. He had managed to puncture his right thigh on a piece of loose rebar and had smashed his nose on the concrete floor while he span out of the room leaving it bloodied and swollen.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked concerned, looking at her wounds.

"Not really, my leg is killing and my chest and arm feel broken," she said greatly distressed but tried to be calm.

She looked at Arthur and saw his battered face. "Are you okay? You look dreadful," she said upset, blaming herself.

"Oh, don't mind me. I can live with this. Let's get you back, I'll have a look at your ribs and leg," He said gently, greatly reassuring her. Amata was hugely grateful for him. She would have died without him there.

"You saved me… thank you," she said softly. Arthur looked at her eyes and saw that despite her injuries, she was still beautiful.

"Well, it would appear you saved the Vault, and by extension, me. So, thank you," he insisted.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look rather pale. " She asked concerned for him.

Arthur smiled a little. "It's not an experience I would like to recreate," he joked modestly, "Now come on, we should get you looked at."


	3. Partner Of My Labours

Semper Eadem

Semper Eadem

James was running about hectically. He had administered at least seventy does of his limited supply of Stimpacks, almost all of his MedX supply was gone and he was resorting to using a mixture of one part MedX to seven parts water in the hope of some form of placebo effect with a little touch of genuine effect. There were roughly thirty people spread across his surgery and ten of which were critically wounded. Jonas was helping as much as he could, running errands and tending to the critically wounded. James had hoped Arthur had returned by now. He was worried about his son. He had wanted to talk to Stanley but he had gone to the overseer's office to access the main controls to avert any further disaster. The overseer on the other hand was nowhere to be seen.

"So much for a conspicuous leader" James thought. It had been a good half an hour since Arthur had gone off with Amata and fifteen since the explosions had stopped. The explosions themselves where what had caused the majority of the damage. The shards of pipe acted as shrapnel, entering people's bodies all over and one by one James had to remove each fragment from each patient. James had hoped Arthur could return soon, he needed all the trained hands he could get. James himself had been wounded, receiving a good scattering of shrapnel along his back when a pipe burst apart behind him. In all, James and Jonas were containing the situation, barely. The floors were wet and bloodied and the constant screams of in pain patients was a moral sapping force which they worked through, tending to the critical and the needy, but supplies were short and the water supply had gone dry. It was looking desperate, no matter how James tried to cut the cards.

Arthur held Amata's arm around his neck. They were both in a serious state but they needed to get back to the surgery. There Arthur could stitch up Amata's leg and look at her arms and ribs. She had since gone very faint. She had lost a lot of blood, two pints and a bit in all Arthur reckoned. They came to the final flight of stairs and began the ascent. Amata could barely walk by now and struggled to hold onto Arthur. He lifted her as much as he could manage, trying to stop Amata using any force. Through fear of her being exhausted he picked her up in both arms and walked the remainder of the stairs. Her face by now was almost white. She had sweat beading off her forehead and Arthur was worried she would go into shock. He reached the top of the stairs and carried her down the hall to the surgery. He could hear the cries of the wounded which made him pause. Would there be space for Amata? Were there any medical supplies left? Arthur had to do something, but was the equipment there to do anything with? He reached the surgery and pushed his way past several people queuing for aid. His father saw him. It was a frightening sight. His clothing was ripped and drenched in his own blood and that of Amata's. His face was battered and his hand was bleeding badly. He rarely looked troubled but his face screamed distress, and James knew it wasn't for himself.

"Dad. She needs help. She's got a laceration down her leg and she's lost a lot of blood. She keeps losing conciseness and I'm worried she's going into shock. I need you to help me to help her." Arthur Begged.

James nodded. "Okay, follow me. Put her down on my desk" James replied.

The two walked into James office. James cleared his desk and Arthur lay Amata down on it.

"I'm going to need a blood pack; A positive. And a Stimpack or two if you have any spare. I will need a needle and thread and antiseptic." Arthur said trying to control his nerves.

James pulled out a small medical kit from under his desk. "In case of emergencies" he said wearily. "Arthur, listen; I need to help those people out there. You will have to do this yourself. When you're done come and find me, you need to help me help everyone else. Listen, don't let your emotions get in the way of the right thing. Okay?"

Arthur nodded "She is more valuable than anyone out there to me. She will get from me what she needs" Arthur replied coldly. "But I will help them after I have helped her"

James nodded knowing that Arthur cared deeply for Amata. James exited the room as Arthur set about his ablations. He washed his hands as quickly as he could and put on his lab coat. He stood over her body and made a mental list of what he needed to do. He set up an IV drip into her arm and placed a blood drip in her too. He then set about closing her leg would. He cut the fabric away from her leg as to reveal the full damage, it was more extensive than he had originally though, at least twice as deep. He began by pouring the alcohol into the wound and removing any debris in there. He then stitched up the wound; twenty in total.

He couldn't do anything about her broken ribs. He didn't even know if they were broken, he didn't have access to the X-ray machine. He strapped her arm around her chest, immobilising it for the time being. After this he stopped, and wondered what else to do. He stood there, looking at her face. He extended his arm to hold hers. She was still unconscious but at least he had stabilised her. He stood there for a minute, hoping she would be okay and holding her hand tightly. She had to be. Arthur turned towards the door and existed the room after bandaging his hand and set about helping Jonas and his father with the backlog of wounded. He noted with some happiness that Butch was crying on the floor over a small burn on his wrist. But Arthurs mind constantly thought about Amata, an unwelcome distraction, he knew, among the chaos of the worst disaster the Vault had ever suffered through.

Amata awoke several days later in the surgery, on a bed in the corner of the room. She attempted to sit up but she couldn't, immobilised from the severe pain in her side. She looked around the room, trying to find the on duty doctor. She looked to her side and spotted Arthur on a chair besides her. He was asleep in a position which couldn't have been good for his health, let alone comfortable. He looked awful. His nose was swollen and he had dark patches under his eyes.

"He's hardly left your side for four days" James voice had been in his office and saw Amata's movements when he decided to come out.

"Is he okay? He doesn't look well" she said forlornly.

"Well physically, no. I had to force feed him the other day and it's the first time he's slept in three days properly. But that's just who he is. Loyal to the end." James said, proud of his foolish son. "However if he keeps this up he'll be in the same place as you are. How are you feeling?" James asked.

"My side really hurts when I move" She grunting at the exertion of trying to move herself onto a more upright position on the bed.  
>James nodded knowingly<br>"You've broken two ribs. There isn't much we can do other than let them heal. You've also fractured your right arm and you've got a large cut on your leg. Arthur did all the repair work himself. He's done a fine job" James revealed.

Amata was shocked. Arthur really had looked after her. She felt awful for not being able to help him. He looked worse than he ever had and it was clear he had not been looking after himself. He had stitched up Amata's leg but not his own hand which had a dried blood mark seeping through. Amata peered down at her own leg. There were bandages carefully wrapping the tender skin and they were recently changed, given away by the lack of blood seeping through.

"Why does he do this? I mean, why me? Why does he look out for me so much?" she questioned.

"Isn't it obvious? James implied. "Arthur… has a set of rules he lives by. He will put you above himself no matter what. He would do the same for me as well; because he cares about us so much. He doesn't show his emotions much, I know, but you can see them through his actions. Amata, I'm not going to tell you how he feels about you, but his actions speak for themselves".

Amata was taken aback by this, she had always knew Arthur cared for her, but she thought he thought of her more of a sister than what James was implying. James stood up and spoke to her.

"If you're wondering your father is okay. The water filtration systems are online but heavily rationed. Only six units are working at the moment but Stanley is working on getting the other operational, but it will take time. The pipes which carry water around are mostly destroyed, I've got a back full of metal to prove it now and its going to take about four months of extra work to reconnect everything, if not longer depending on the resources, or lack thereof."

Amata looked a little shocked. Spending so much time with her father had given her a good grasp on logistics. "But that means that we won't have enough water for the next two months" she concluded.

"That's right. Stanley thinks he can get another two working by next week but even with that we will be only meeting seventy percent of the water needs. So for the foreseeable future there is no heating, no bathing or showers and the water is handed out by the security team. Your father really has cracked down. I need to tell him you are okay, you stay here and I'll go up to him. I'm sure he has everything sorted out." James assured and promptly walked out of the room.

Amata looked over at Arthur who was still dead to the world. She gripped his hand softly and wanted more than anything for him to be awake, but she daren't wake him.

James proceeded down the Overseers office, remarking on the quick clean-up operation underway. Some new pipes had even been installed, the overseer couldn't be criticized on his efficient management. James, Jonas and Arthur had been turned into somewhat of a celebrity trio for their actions and James received many good wishes and compliments on his way down, despite the best efforts of the overseer who would have liked to have kept them in the twilight.. He still didn't know what happened down on the reactor level with Arthur and Amata, but whatever it was the damages they suffered showed it was chaotic. James rounded up the stairs to the Overseer's office. As usual he was planted behind his computer, typing away.

"Alphonse. Your daughter is awake" James said plainly, expecting a blank response.

The overseer however sat back in his chair giving James an approving look.

"I must say James, your actions these past few days have been exemplary. I personally thank you for your efforts and as a father I thank you for looking after my daughter. It must be a auspicious moment for your usual tenth rate standards" He said, attempting to drop his monotone voice.

"Not at all. It was more Arthur than me anyway. Look Alphonse, you should give her a day or two to recover. She needs her rest" James advised. The overseer nodded with approval.

"The water systems are coming back online ahead of schedule. However we still cannot meet the demand and Stanley simply cannot work fast enough given his team. James, because of the extraordinary circumstances I am willing to give you one, and only one, filtration unit. Number 8 to be exact. Stanley informs me he doesn't have the required parts to get it working again, though it is still structurally sound. I think it is time to invest in… alternative measures to ensure our protection. I will give you twenty water chips and no more. I hope you realise the gravity of this opportunity. Do not let me down James."

James nodded slightly apprehensively. Perhaps it was the successful recovery of his daughter that had softened him or he had been humbled somewhat by the incident. Either way James was not about to jeopardise his fist chance to start the experiments proper by questioning the Overseers changed stance.

"Very well Alphonse, good day" he said as he spun about and jovially ran out of the room to discuss the news with Jonas.

Arthur awoke from his sleep with an uncomfortable neck. He was stiff all over and his hand throbbed from his cut. But his other hand was in Amata's. She was asleep, though the half-drunk glass of water next to her bed showed that she had been up recently. Arthur tried to avoid waking Amata up as he slid out of his chair as silently as possible but his hand dropped hers by accident, jolting her awake.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you" he said apologetically.

She looked at him and smiled. "It's okay, I wanted to see you anyway" she smiled back. "Have you been eating?" she question, frowning at his obvious lack of self-care.

"No, not as of today. I find meals off putting for those with much work. More to throw up as it were" he joked but Amata kept a stern face.

"Arthur, seriously, you look awful. When was the last time you slept?"

"Just then" he retorted.

"No, I don't mean like that. I mean the last time you were in a bed".

Arthur paused. "When you were there with me" He said somewhat awkwardly.

Amata was surprised at this, it had been four days they had done that. "Really? It shows. You need rest."

"No, I don't." Arthur insisted. "I need to know that you are okay and I'm not leaving you while you are in such a state. And no, you will not succeed in convincing me otherwise".He stated argumentatively. Amata knew he would not move from his position, after all he held the moral high ground, she couldn't ask him to walk away from his morals. Then Amata remembered what Arthurs father had said to her.

"What if we were to sleep like that again?" she probed curiously. Arthur wouldn't admit it but he would have liked that arrangement.

"I can't, what if I touch your leg or something by accident?"

"Well if you don't I'm going to go back to my quarters and stay there without you and I'll have my father set me some work there, for the good of the vault" she positioned.

Arthur said nothing, electing to glower at her instead. Arthur knew that if she did go back to her quarters her father would give her some task to do and she wouldn't be able to fully recuperate.

"Fine you can sleep in my room. So I can look after you. Your father is still working so he cant. I might as well". It was a weak excuse but an effective one.

"Its settled then" She smiled. She sat upright and began to move off the bed. Arthur moved alongside her to help lift her to her feet. Together they shuffled down to Arthur's quarters.

The remarkably efficient cleaning operation had everyone in the vault on overtime. The rooms were filled with people removing parts of the wall to access some of the more intimate damage. Luckily Arthur's room had escaped the worst of the damage, and only a leaky radiator which was by his bed was a problem, which was quickjly fixed by himself.

Once there Arthur sat Amata down on her bed and sat next to her. Arthur looked into her Hazel eyes as she looked into his. They sat there for a moment unaware of the time passing them by. Eventually Amata shuffled a bit closer to him, their eyes still engaged in their counterparts. There hearts sped up as there movements slowed. Each caught in the others captivating gaze. Arthur didn't know what to do. Should he kiss her? Leave and go to work again? Offer her a drink? He really didn't have a clue, conversely Amata equally hit a wall. Eventually Amata leaned in close to Arthur, eyes not breaking contact for a second. She placed her hands on the back of Arthurs neck and leaned closer. She continued to gaze into the blue abyss of his eyes. She was so close she could feel his breath on her face and likewise he could feel hers on his. Her advance stopped millimetres from his lips. Arthur moved his hands onto hers as he closed the final gap. Their lips touched softly for the first time. They both closed their eyes as they continued their kiss.  
>They finally withdrew from each other after a short time. They sat there, unsure of what to do or say. Amata's head was pounding. There was a rush of relief at the fact she had finally kissed the one she fancied for years, fear at the quality of kiss as it was her first as well as his and a great amount of uncertainty which surrounded her now.<p>

"Thank you" Amata said softly, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes. He sat there, not saying a word for he himself was immobilised by the circumstances he found himself in.  
>"For everything. For saving me. For being there for me. For caring for me" Arthur by this time also had closed his eyes.<p>

"Amata… Amata I… I … I don't really know how to express this…" He choked on his words.

His voice box dammed up and sat there for a moment thinking about his next words.

"But for a long time. As long I can care to remember I have… had, err, feelings for you."

He paused briefly, regretting that he had admitted his only secret he withheld from her.

"One might say that I… I love you Amata. And I've felt this way for a long time. But I have to say it now. Because… because I do. I love you Amata."Arthur admitted quietly.  
>He didn't dare open his eyes for fear of rejection instead electing to hold his eyes tight shut, not moving a muscle, wishing he didn't exist in all his awkwardness. But if he did open his eyes he would have seen Amata with tears in hers.<p>

"I love you too" she sniffled giving him another kiss.

1 year later.

Amata turned over in her bed, trying to escape the humid heat which plagued the vault ever since the incident that claimed three lives.  
>The pipes over her head groaned rancorously, as ever. She sat up, using her hands to steady herself, she couldn't bear the heat any longer. She looked down at her Pipboy. 6:48 Am. She sighed for nothing but another twelve hour shift was going to dominate another one of her days. She hadn't any time for anything but work lately, her father was dominating her life, he would have her running menial tasks, anything to keep her occupied. Amata was beginning to suspect she knew of her and Arthur's clandestine relationship, and the increased workload was his attempt at ending it. To all intents and purposes it was successful, she hadn't actually seen Arthur for the past week, an unwelcome change from their frequent days together. Her father's dogmatic approach to such problems was why she saw Arthur becoming more and more insubordinate to the Overseer. Arthur wasn't making necessarily bad or wrong choices, quite the opposite in fact, but the Overseers way of trying to rein control over Arthur had lead him to ignore almost totally the authority the Overseer tried to exert.<p>

"I'll be damned if he thinks he owns me, by god. Those worthy of respect do not demand it" Arthur often said.

Amata saw where Arthur was coming from, but she had no stomach for ignoring her father. She instead tried to find resolution through the medium of negotiation, though negotiating with such a person leaves her in somewhat of a hard disposition. Her loyalty to her father was the only thing that kept her from seeing the Overseer as a monster. She lifted herself off the bed and walked over to her dresser. She pulled out her vault suit, which had been lovingly washed by butch after he took up the secondary job of a Laundrette as hairdressing was not nearly as lucrative as he had once thought. She undressed from her night ware and slid into her underclothes before putting on her suit, she regretted not having a shower before going to work, but running water was a scarcity in the vault, and her father would not tolerate such use of water unproductively. She sat at her mirror as she tied back her medium length brown her into her usual bun, leaving a few strands free, as not to look too official, despite the scorn of her father.  
>The Overseer had scheduled her an early start today so as soon as she was dressed and ready she left for work, skipping breakfast entirely. She was slightly early and decided it was a good idea to walk to her father's quarters and speak to him about the weeks manifest but as she approached his room she could hear screaming. She stopped dead in her tracks, listening intently, trying to identify who the cries were coming from, a male definitely. She slowly approached the Overseers room, pressing her back to the wall to avoid detection and sliding along the wall, placing feet carefully.<p>

"Jonas, all you have to do to end this is just tell me where he went. I will call Officer Mack back and then we can solve this problem with a little civility."

Amata recoiled from horror. Her father was torturing Jonas. She froze, half out of fear for herself, half out of curiosity. She daren't walk in.

"I…I don't know anything Alphonse!" Jonas whimpered.

Amata approached the window to her father's room, still hiding form sight. The Overseer sighed.

"Jonas even when I show you such compassion you still deftly want to defend such an insubordinate traitor who would endanger the vault? I will give you one last chance to rescind your misplaced allegiance to him, or I will have officer Mack held unaccountable for his actions. I can do nothing to stop him, in my advanced age." He threatened maniacally.

"I told you! I don't know anything!" Jonas shouted.

By now Amata was at the glass pane, crouched low and looking through at an angle to blur her image. Amata heard her father sigh and watch him motion with his hand towards Officer Mack. Amata could hear the screams of Jonas as Officer Mack battered him with the baton. The oversized man swung with the weight of a sledgehammer, striking Jonas on the back of the head. Amata couldn't bear to watch and hid herself behind a wall. After a minute the cries of Jonas stopped and she heard her father shouting at officer Mack.

"Now look at what you have done! You idiot, he was our only lead. I will have to find an alternative source. Arthur will know, send your team after him. Now." The overseer ordered aggressively. "Once you have him you can find me in the security room, and for the love of god don't kill him this time" he said.

Amata panicked at the sound of footsteps approaching her. She ran behind a pillar to hide herself from her father and the Officer. She heard the footsteps a few feet away from her and shuddered, trying desperately to hold her breath.  
>Her father was a murderer and she could think of nothing else. Everything she knew was bad about her father she reasoned that he wasn't a criminal, but now, there was no rebuff in her mind other than the loyalty of a daughter, desperately trying to find some reason to defend her father. The footsteps faded and Amata finally allowed herself to breathe. She had to stop the officers reaching Arthur before he did, she had to warn him of what was going on. She didn't know what was happening herself but on an adrenaline rush she decided to access the vault systems to give her and Arthur an advantage. She ran from behind the pillar into her father's room looking for something to slow the officers down.<br>She ran to the override console and rapidly set about closing and sealing all doors on the upper level. She was hoping that this would slow them down, like rats in a maze they would lose their way. She knew that it wouldn't hold them for long, but perhaps long enough for her to get Arthur up and out of bed. A plan would have to be made up along the way. She then hurried over to her father's office and opened his secure safe. Inside she found a 10mm pistol, a few rounds and a small rucksack. She shoved the pistol and ammo into the bag, placed the bag over her shoulder and ran from the room. Because of her actions she couldn't get through the tunnels anymore because of the locked doors, but she had planned for this. Amata found a service shaft which had been opened to allow Stanley access to the damaged pipes on the upper level. The plan was that she would use the service tunnel to descend the floors, using the pipes as ladders to climb down the openings in the floor.  
>She squeezed herself down the shaft and began sliding down to the accommodation level, grasping at the pipes . The tunnel was almost pitch black, forcing Amata to switch on the less than stealthy Pipboy light to guide her.<p>

She could hear the hissing of discharge valves regulating themselves below her. She knew this was one way the radroaches travelled and she prayed she wouldn't run into one, she had no stomach for those grotesque abominations. Amata could smell a rank musty smell from underneath, centuries of warm, damp conditions had grown host to a myriad of insects, mosses and small mammals, and she tried ignoring what she was putting her hands on as she bit her teeth and carried on downwards. The foul stench of two hundred years of decayed air assaulted her nostrils, forcing her to breath through her mouth in an attempt to rid the smell of the putrid air from her nose, however, despite the relentless onslaught of death and age attacking her, Amata was desperately trying to figure out what had happened.

She knew that Jonas was dead and that James must have escaped from the vault, but she didn't know if Arthur knew about his father's escape or if Arthur was involved. She didn't think he had, guessing from what the overseer had said. She felt a desperate feeling growing inside her. She loved her father, but his actions were not that of a good man, or a leader of men. Stumbling down the piping, grabbing pipe to pipe in a desperate bid to outpace her opponants meant that she sacrificed caution for haste.  
>She grasped one with her hands only to have her reflexes wrench it away from the extreme heat. The pipe must be carrying the heating systems water, as it was leading from the direction of the reactor. She looked around, trying to find another pipe, but to no avail. It was the only pipe in the tunnel for five metres. Amata knew she had no choice but to grab onto the pipe, despite the pain it would cause, she wouldn't be able to get to Arthur before the Officers otherwise.<p>

She pulled a small handkerchief out of her pocket, and wrapped it around her hands and gripped the pipe as carefully as she could, trying to avoid skin contact with the hot pipe. She then brought her legs around the pipe and began to slide down. She nearly cried out with pain when her jumpsuit slid up her leg, exposing a few inches of her calf to the searing heat, but the pain was forced to the back of her mind as she bit down harder, trying to escape the pain by moving her legs, which did nothing but hasten her decent.

She could feel the cloth around her hands heat up as she slid the final few metres as well as the growing heat through her jumpsuit. The small service tunnel was visble, the one that led directly into the accommodation level. She manoeuvred herself to place her back to the wall and push off with her legs against the pipe, jamming herself against the wall. From this position she could free her hands and lift herself into the tunnel. She was positioned slightly above the tunnel, using her boots against the hot pipe she 'walked' a few feet along the wall and gripped the metal frame which covered the door. She then released her feet from the pipe and held onto the frame as she fell slightly. The frame itself was quite sharp and as Amata swung into the door it sliced into her finger tips, making her cry out in pain. She pulled herself with great effort into the tunnel and examined her fingers.

The metal had cut deep into the three major fingers in her hands, but not her little fingers or thumbs, but the bleeding was profuse. She could do nothing but put her hands under her arms and squeeze to stem the flow of blood. Pausing for a moment, Amata stopped a moment, filling with anger over Jonas' death and then she was assaulted by the fear of the same fate or Arthur. She swallowed hard and proceeded down to Arthur's room, running as fast as she could as blood dripping from her hands. As she rounded the corner to Arthur's room, it was clear she was too late. Two security officer's blocker her way into the room, with one more inside talking to Arthur. Amata had no idea how to get past them, she couldn't fight all three off them at once.

She stood behind the corner out of site while she thought up a plan. She decided to use her influence as the Overseers daughter to remove the guards, Amata knew it would work on the two outside, but she didn't know who the third guard was. Confidently she strode up to the two guards outside with as much purpose as she could muster. Amata looked at the two guards through their face masks. It was Officer Thomas and Officer Johnson.

"My father wants you in the reactor level. There's a problem with the coolant again and he wants you to monitor it while this goes on." She said as coolly as possible.

The two guards looked sceptically at each other. They weren't questioning the orders, rather than being somewhat insulted by being ordered around by what they perceived as an immature school girl.

"Today!" Amata ordered.

"This is bullshit. I'm not having this pampered princess tell me what to do. I'm going to have a word with Hannon" Officer Johnson said indignantly as he walked off to the reactor level with Officer Thomas.

Amata was relieved to no end that her plan had worked. If her father knew that she was disobeying him there would be major repercussions for her. She knew she was putting herself in danger, but she had to in order to help Arthur.

Inside Arthurs Quarters Officer Mack and Arthur were having a war of words. "Kid, I don't care if you ain't agreeing with me, you're coming with me!" he shouted aggressively.

"Not bloody likely!" Arthur said raising his voice. "I'll be damned if I'm about to be ordered around by the overseers pawn. If he wants me, he can come here instead of sending someone who is bereft of any manner of intelligence" he stated.

"Don't use your fancy words around me, kid. I don't know what you mean but I sure as hell know you just insulted me".

"Under these circumstances I think it apt to stay here until I am told about what has happened and how I am involved by the overseer personally. I don't see how my actions have done anything to cause offense or harm to this community and I won't allow the overseer to exert the dogmatic prerogative of oppression against me to coerce me into action which will no doubt serve me ill and incriminate me to no end" Arthur argued with all the brevity of an orator.

"You just did it again!" Officer Mack said upholstering his pistol.

Amata was crouched behind the door frame watching the episode unravel. She saw how it was going awry and despite her ethical arguments, dug out the gun from her bag. She loaded a single round in the chamber and cocked the gun, placing only one round in because she had no intention of using it expect to express the fact that a pistol had entered the argument. She still didn't enter the room but she knew she had to do something. It would be only a few moments before the rest of the security team arrived and dragged Arthur away. Inside the room the war of words continued.

"Kid, you're making this harder than it has to be, I'll tell you once more and if you don't get of this room I'm going to shoot you."

"I find it amusing that you think I will leave this room by empty threats. Even more incredible is the thought you actually know how to fire the gun" he stated blankly, frowning at the Officer as he often did when he was either in deep thought or angry.

The officer raised the pistol to Arthurs face. There was three metres of open ground between them, too long a distance for Arthur to attempt to tackle the officer. Arthur stared the man down, he stood there, unflinching, staring into the man's eyes, trying to force him to back off. Suddenly Arthur's eyes darted to the gun.

"I knew you didn't know how to use a pistol" he said mocking the officer as Mack dumbly looked down at his pistol, deeply confused. "The safety is on" Arthur said blankly.

The officer lowered his pistol to find the safety, in which time Arthur lunged for the pistol, trying to knock it out of the Officers hands. From out in the hallway Amata witnessed Arthur tackle the officer to the ground, trying desperately to wrench the gun from his hands. Arthur's efforts were in vain as the padded officer would take no damage from the punches he threw, and the officer had clearly invested more time into the gym than books. Amata didn't intervene as she knew that she could do little to help, and instead attempted to retrieve the Officers radio which had slid away from him in the ongoing battle. In one swift move the officer punched Arthur in the face, incapacitating him for a brief moment, allowing the officer to pin Arthur to the ground. He then drew his pistol to Arthurs face.

"It was never on safety" He said spitting savagely at Arthurs face. "I'm going to end you" he spat, punctuating his point by cocking the pistol's hammer and forcing the muzzle into Arthurs face.

Arthur could do nothing but stare invidiously into the Officers eyes as the muzzle bore down into his forehead. There was a single deafening gunshot and Arthur's ears rang with the percussion.

A fine mist descended on Arthurs face as the large Officer collapsed on him, blood leaking from a wound in his head. In the doorway stood a mortified Amata, gun level with the body and barrel smoking. Arthur could see through his dazed eyes her hands dripping with blood and the smoking pistol in her hand. She dropped the pistol and stood perfectly still, having a distraught frowning look on her face as tears welled up in her eyes.

Arthur struggled quickly up to his feet, trying to make his way over to her. Arthur could see she didn't know how to react, and he himself couldn't believe that she had just killed his assailant. He walked over to her as slowly as he could, trying to avoid any sudden movements that could scare her. She just stood there, hands still outstretched from holding the pistol; the only change was the heavy flow of tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Arthur held out his arms slowly, holding her by the arch of her back as he pulled her close, looking sympathetically through a blood covered face.

Her eyes looked to Arthur's, screaming of the guilt of the crime she had just committed. She grabbed Arthur into an embrace, as he pulled her in close and tight, still spinning from the shock of what had just happened.

He held her for a few moments, before she pulled herself from the hug. He looked at her overwhelmed face, tears forming in her eyes once more.

"You've got to get out of here Arthur. You've got to go!" she said being overpowered by a sense of urgency. "I'm so sorry Arthur. I really am" she said as tears rolled down her eyes.

Arthur pulled her into a hug, holding her head into his shoulder. "It's alright, it's alright" he said soothingly, hiding his bewildered feelings and his own recognition that what had happened clear was not. "It's okay". "It's okay, its okay. I'm here, I'm okay. It's all going to be okay".

She grabbed him tighter "It won't. Nothing will ever be the same" she whispered, sobbing loudly onto his blood stained suit.


	4. Stockholm Syndrome

Semper Eadem

Arthur stood still for a few moments more, still holding onto Amata. The sound had returned to his ears and his mind had got a grip on what was happening but there was so much he didn't know; few minutes before he was asleep in his bed, dreaming a forgotten dream when three armed guards arrived at his front door to 'escort' him to the overseer for further questioning. He had tried resolving the situation as best he could but couldn't diffuse the anger that Officer Mack held against him, for no apparent reason, it would seem. Now he was covered in blood, the fighting between him and Mack had left him on the receiving end of two horrific punches, both to his supraorbital ridges, but nothing more than pain and swelling thankfully. The blood however consisted mainly of the Type B positive that had once belonged to the former second in command of vault security. The blood was drying and clotting on his face and hair and there was a large amount of blood that had spilt onto his suit from the hole Amata gifted to Officer Mack.  
>She however was largely dry, save for her eyes. She had buried her face into Arthurs shoulder and held him tightly for a minute. Arthur did what he could to soothe the distraught Amata, but he knew it was of little condolence. The room was a state; Mack had made a show of his force by throwing Arthur's dresser half way across the room which shattered when it contacted the floor. Blood was still flowing, albeit to a much lesser degree, from the hole in Mack's head which pooled like a scarlet sea around his body and the boots of Arthur and Amata. Arthur was still confused about the situation, not knowing what was going on other than his father was involved in some situation that meant that he himself was responsible. He was obliged to stand and hug Amata, despite the danger of inaction.<p>

"Amata, what is going on? Why was he here? Why did you shoot him?" He asked seriously, but trying to avoid upsetting her.

"You've got to get out of here!" she said hysterically, grabbing at her hair, clearly in deep distress. "Your fathers left the vault and my father men are looking for you!"

"What do you mean my father has left the vault? No one ever leaves" Arthur questioned, frowning at the information.

"He's left the vault! I don't know how but he's gone and my father… he's kind of gone crazy". Amata spoke hurriedly, showing all manner of wanting to leave rather than explain to Arthur what was going on. Arthur's heart sank at the news, his own father had abandoned him, and now he was going to be punished by an out of control overseer for his actions.

"Surely to god your father would have prevented this? How could my father have left… how could he?" He said angrily

Amata looked to the ground, sensing Arthur's rage, she didn't know how to react, this situation had never happened before. She knew Arthur was angry rather for want of a grasp on the situations. He never was one to be handled about, instead he often established himself as a leader, rather than leave it to someone else's incompetence.

"I don't know. But he's gone and Jonas is dead and now they're looking for you" She said sadly. Arthur took a step back and gave a denying look towards Amata.

"Jonas… dead?"

Amata nodded solemnly.

Arthur felt his body heat up as the anger within him brewed. His eyes were wide and face pained with lips thinned. The sudden lust for revenge swirled in his head, a thousand thoughts of punishment, from the subtle to the obscene bombarded the chorus in his head, each screaming retribution, going against his moral fibre, but being met with approval in the torrent of anguish.

"My father's men think Jonas helped your dad escape, they caught him and brought him to my father's office," she looked down to the former Officer Mack and sniffled a little "he… he killed Jonas" she choked.

The room was silent as Arthur thought through the situation, while Amata wiped her eyes and composed herself. Inside Arthur was exploding with rage, but he kept it in the crucible of himself as the world of Vault 101 compressed into his mind. He looked at Amata's fingers and saw the blood staining her hands.

"Are you alright?" he said, losing the angry tone in his voice.

Amata looked down to her fingers, seeing all the six cuts on her fingers.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just sorry you had to find out like this. I know Jonas was your friend" she sniffled again. She looked up from her hands and right into Arthur's eyes.  
>"But we've got to go now. My father's men will be back any minute." She said hastily.<p>

Arthur thought over his options for a minute; there weren't really any options other than escaping and going after his father, the dead body put paid to any chance of a peaceful resolution, even though Amata had killed him, Arthur undoubtedly would be held accountable.

"There's no alternative; I have to leave the vault. I know I am not responsible for this, but nonetheless I will be punished as such, that is to say, I doubt your father will care very much to differentiate between my father and myself." He said grimly.

Amata knew there was no other way even though she wished there was.

"I know. You have to go after your father. You'll have to escape from the vault"

Arthur looked through Amata, thinking about how he would go about it. His options were limited. He would need food, water, clothes, weapons, medical supplies. He needed more than the vault probably had. Amata stood in front of him, knowing that he was thinking deeply about something. His stare broke and took Amata by surprise slightly.

"Can you help me?" he asked. "I will need that pistol, some water and food" he stated. Amata took the bag off her back and handed it to Arthur.

"There's some ammo for the pistol in there, a few magazine thingies as well. We can get water from the tap and food from the supply room" she suggested.

Arthur nodded taking the bag in his hands and walking over to his broken dresser, pulling out a spare vault suit and folding it tightly into his bag. Amata went into the kitchen and hurriedly started bottling water into small plastic, jar like bottles. Arthur walked out with his baseball bat. Amata looked at the bat, knowing he was going to use it instead of the pistol, which Arthur noticed her looking to.

"I would rather beat someone unconscious than shoot them. I have no intention of doing the devils work." he said in a matter of fact tone.

It was a poor choice of words as Amata remembered the dead Officer Mack sprawled across Arthur's bedroom floor. Arthur took note of the suddenly saddened face of Amata and tried to gain lost ground

"Amata" he started softly "what you did you needed to do. What is done is done and it saved me, so yet again I am indebted to you. His death is tragic, certainly, but he is not a man to whom we can hold sympathy for. You know he is… was… a brutal man and without you I would be dead by now. It's a grave affair and that requires grave decisions" he orated as he gripped her shoulders softly.

Amata nodded at him, her eyes showing him how bad she really felt. The once beautiful hazel eyes had become a morass of reddened sclera, smudged makeup and heavy tears.

Arthur tried to force the conversation somewhere else other than the upsetting and disturbing circumstances that they found themselves in.

"We need food, come with me, if you please" he said as he walked out of his room with Amata following closely. He turned left out of his room and stood at the supply room door.

"Is there a way into this? It would be invaluable if we could get access to the food." He said looking at the door.

"There's a way" Amata said as she crouched by the console. Her hands buried into her hair searching for a hair pin carefully, endeavouring to avoid the slit fingers that had by now crudely clotted closed. She pulled the bobby pin out and bent it in the middle and then forced it into the lock in the console.  
>The door made a hissing sound as it slid open. Inside the room there were shelves upon shelved of food, stacked ten deep by at least ten metres long. Amata stood up, pressing the pin into Arthur hand.<p>

"That's how I get in to my father office" she said as she pushed his hand closed.

Arthur walked into the room and began placing the boxes into the bag. The bag itself wasn't much bigger than two foot by one in a rectangle shaped leather wasn't a great amount of space but he managed to force several of the boxes in along with the water. In all he had about four days food with him.

"That's not a lot I can take with me. I will be short of food, no doubt. Do you think there will be settlements on the outside?" Arthur Questioned, showing an air of apprehensiveness as the reality of the precariousness of his situation hit him.

"I… I don't know. It's been a long time since the bombs fell. Maybe some other vaults opened up or some other survivors were involved. I don't know. I think so."

Arthur said nothing as he walked from the room and looked at his Pipboy, creating an itinerary of his backpack.

"Christ, I nearly forgot, there is a first aid kit in my room, on the wall. Would you mind getting it?" he asked.

Amata nodded as she ran into the room. The kit was on the wall in a small box which was marked by a faded green cross and when she opened it the contents of the box spilled onto the floor. The box had been filled with several years' worth of medical equipment, far greater than any first aid kit would require. The box was filled with Stimpacks, around ten in total with dozens of bandages and a few boxes of plasters with antiseptic wipes. There was even two syringes of MedX, something which was prohibited for private ownership, along with that there were numerous metal instruments including scalpels and an array of tweezers. She knelt down and gathered the supplies from the floor and into her arms and walked out into the room, suspiciously eying Arthur.

"Why do you have so many medical supplies? You could treat half the vault with this stuff"

Arthur who had been in his world of compacted thought looked up and at the supplies.

"Well you see I always endeavour never to be cut short. For you see life is like guessing what is in the other room and more times than not it is butch with a baseball and intention to damage some part of my anatomy, and so I must always be prepare, on a more…. Macro scale, if you will. And I intend to be prepared for any such encounter. One can never prepare too much." He stated as he opened the front pocket of his bag and carefully placed each item in.

"There's a bottle of Vodka under the sink. Would you mind?"

Amata was shocked by this possession; Arthur had always made a point of never drinking alcohol. Why would he have a whole bottle of Vodka? She stood there giving him a disapproving look. She herself refused to drink, after witnessing the rapid decline of Butch's Mother to the abhorrent vices of alcohol.

Arthur noticed the look and felt compelled to argue his side.

"For disinfectant, the alcohol can be used to kill of microbes and such, to an extent. Nothing is fool proof and to take chances is to act unnecessarily in such circumstances" he said defensively.

Amata reach into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the unopened bottle, looking at the date of distillation.

"How long have you had this?"

"Approximately two years"

"And you've kept it all this time… for an Emergency? You've never been tempted to drink it?"

"Temptation is for the weak. Resolve to be indifferent to such matters and you will be as resolute in your actions as successful" Arthur replied. "Now if we are quite done interrogating me Inquisitor, we have more pressing matters to attend to" he said, motioning to the door.

They both walked to the door and looked down the corridor to which would ultimately lead their two lives to break apart.

As they left the room Arthur opened his bag back up and took Amata's hands carefully in his. He doused them in the vodka, forcing Amata to squint at the pain. He then placed a plaster around each of her fingers, taking extreme care not to hurt her. His movements were soft and affectionate. He paused for a moment, staring into the abyss.

"You have to go without me." He said silently.  
>"If they see you with me you'll be incriminated along with me. Make your way to the top and try and stall your father, hopefully the distraction will be sufficient to let me leave…" he said forlornly. "This might be the last time I see you"<p>

Amata looked to him as he slowly lifted his head. She didn't move and her breathing became shallow, almost ceasing. She was about to lose the one thing in the vault which she cared about most. Time slowed as the two stood there silently, staring at each other with their expressions so concisely showing their pain, no words were needed to be said, for looks convey more than words.

"I will try to meet you upstairs" she said with tears forming in her eyes once more. Arthur looked to her with a grievous look on his face.

"As long as you are safe that is all that matters" he said softly. Amata pulled him into a hug, which he sorrowfully returned; holding her in his arms as such buried her face into his neck and let out a sob.

"I hope you do not think ill of me for my apparent lack of affection" Arthur finally admitted. "For I hold you most dear and these circumstances we find ourselves thrust into will do nothing to lessen my opinion of you. When all is said and done I will return to you, depend upon it. A life out there is none at all without you."

Amata pulled herself from the embrace and kissed Arthur on the lips.

"I will wait for you by the door. I'll try and stall my father. Just please be quick and avoid anyone, I don't want my father catching you"

"I will be. Now, it's a good idea for you to set off before me. Go to your father and do whatever is necessary, just be careful." He paused for a moment. "I love you" he said smiling wearily at her.

"I love you too" Amata said as she wiped away her tears and set off down the corridor, making her way to Vaults jail in an attempt to find her father before he started a search for Officer Mack.

Arthur watched her as she ran off and even when he had turned the corner he stood there, wanting everything to be different. He resultantly turned around and picked up his bat from the floor. He grasped it in two hands and swung it in a test trial.  
>He noticed the body of Officer Mack on the floor, face down in his own blood. Arthur walked over to the corpse and rolled it over into the supine position and cleared the blood from his face with a bed sheet. The man's eyes were still wide open, frozen in a look of shock. Arthur knelt down and placed his fingers over his eyelids and with a slow movement downwards he closed them; a mark of respect for a man who had been intent on killing him not 10 minutes before.<p>

He rose from kneeling and grasped his bag on the floor as he walked to the door. There were countless things in his room he wished he could take, such as the picture of him and his father on his tenth birthday, a sentimental object that had no use other than a connection with the past, but Arthur knew the second he stood through that door, all his life up to this point had been irrelevant. No longer would he be in a place where words could win confrontation and personal advances were made through the exchange between others. He knew the only exchange he could expect, if any, was gunfire. The bat was useless outside and the pistol was impractical inside, the gunfire would only serve to expose his position to the guards. Nonetheless he had to make do with what he had. He walked from the room, bat in hand, pausing for a moment for a solemn mental farewell.  
>He breathed silently, finding himself at a loss, he forced himself but no limb would move, he couldn't just walk away, not like this. Sentiment, he found, was a powerful force. So many memories he had in this room. His first kiss. His admission to Amata. Three years of his life he had lived and slept there. Every day after work he would study on a now overturned desk. He would sit on his bed and message Amata despite The Overseer explicitly banning such activity. Leaving everything he knew behind was so much more intense than words can describe. The feeling of belonging, of ownership, the responsibility of living by himself, and he was just going to walk away from it. He had to.<p>

He wrenched his mind of the negative and onto the objective. The vault was going to kill him if he didn't act, and inaction was something Arthur was a stranger to.

"Do the business of the day in the day" he thought as he began walking away from his room.

* * *

><p>Arthur had been keeping his movements quiet as he ran from corridor to corridor, attempting to make his way to the Atrium. He had no encountered any Officers as of yet, though he was convinced he would when the alarm was sounded not twenty seconds after he walked from his room. The whole vault now must have known about the escape. A population of around one hundred and fifty were now all potential threats to Arthur, and he took pains to avoid them.<br>He ran in no particular direction, trying to avoid the more populated areas of the vault.  
>He was roughly half way there when from around the corner he heard the sound of metal bashing against concrete and the sounds of something hard being beaten through. Arthur leant around the corner carefully, exposing just his cheek and eye. He saw an officer standing, fighting off seven rad roaches. The mutant insects grabbed at the Officers legs, tearing the cloth away. The Officer would bat them away but only to have a mandible attack him from round the side. The Officer was visibly frustrated, but, oddly, not panicked by the rabid attack he was fending off.<p>

Arthur didn't know what to do, his most recent encounter with an officer had left him nearly dead and approaching another was not the foremost idea Arthur had. The officer swung round at a Radroach and knocked its head flying in the direction of Arthur. Arthur followed the insect's remains with his head as it rolled past his corner. Incidentally the officer had done that also and as Arthur looked back to the raging battle he saw the Officer stare straight back at him, disregarding the roaches.

"You! You little shit!" the Officer growled as he swathed his way through the roaches with a renewed fury, intent on striking at Arthur.

Arthur backed away from the corner, holding the bat length ways to stop any swings. The ravenous man closed the gap within seconds, a speed which was frightening to witness. The Officer swung savagely at the final radroach and sent its carcass flying across the floor in a display of uncontrolled anger. Arthur by now had identified the officer as Officer Kendall, an aggressive man by nature with a short tempered disposition; Arthur knew there was little chance at negotiation. Despite his lack of ability with a baseball bat, he would have to fight the man.

The Officer walked menacingly towards Arthur, swaying his baton lightly by his leg, adding to the intimidation. There was a brief roar of exertion as Kendal raised his arm above his head and swung at Arthur with brutal ferocity. Arthur instinctively raised his bat to protect himself, but it was too little avail as the blow glanced off the wood and slid down the length of the bat, striking Arthur in the chin, forcing him to stumble several feet backwards to escape from the inevitable attack Kendal was charging up.

Arthur rubbed his chin with his shoulder as Kendal stood a mere two metres away, grinning madly at his success. Arthur raised his bat again; making sure it wasn't angled in such a way that a ricochet swing wouldn't hit him again.

Another roar came from the officer as he ran charged forwards swinging madly at Arthur. The officer's over-zealous use of energy allowed Arthur a slight advantage. Using the officer's momentum against him, Arthur struck at his knees, forcing the officer onto the floor. Kendall attempted to stand again, as he energetically lifted himself onto all fours but Arthur sensing this was his only good opportunity drove home with the bat between the unguarded neck and shoulder plates.  
>He sung again and again at the opening, each time he felt the bat slide a little off one of the vertebrae. He continued pounding this area for a few moments more, making absolutely sure there was no movement before allowing himself to stop caving the poor man's neck in. If he wasn't dead then he wouldn't be walking ever again.<p>

Abhorred by the sight of the mangled mess of the man's neck, Arthur recoiled at the grim sight. The Officer's neck was a mangled mess of shattered bone, visibly protruding through broken and lacerated skin. Arthur felt uneasy at the look of the man. He had actually killed someone in cold blood. He tried to internally reason with himself, attempting to condone his actions by justifying that his actions were to preserve his life, and that meant the death of him. But any attempt at justification did little to dampen the sickening feeling that felt like it was dragging his soul away. He knew that the officer's death was unnecessary, but what could he have done? The man wouldn't have stopped to have a philosophical chat with Arthur. However he felt ashamed of himself, as if his actions had corrupted all that he had ever held dear. There was no moral integrity in killing, he found. Arthur's breathing became laboured and erratic as he had somewhat a mental lapse. Falling into a brief moment of utter terror and despair far greater than anything he had ever experienced. He had seen dead bodies before in his line of work and was always indifferent to them, even officer Mack's sudden and gruesome demise did little to affect him, but when death was dealt by his hand, there were no words comparable.

Arthur was suddenly confronted with a sickening decision, leave the probably dead Officer to be devoured by the radroaches, allowing Arthur a quicker, hassle free escape or drag the corpse into a room, waste time for honour and have a greater chance of the security team finding him. He decided with the latter rather than the former and grabbed the officer's armour and dragged the body down the hallway. The officer's head rolled from side to side in a sickening, unnatural way as Arthur dragged him along and with each corner turned, the head would seem to almost fall from the neck.

Suddenly, there was a high pitched scream that resonated throughout the corridors. Accompanying the scream came a tearful figure running down the hallway, clad in signature leather jacket. As the figure approached Arthur could see the features of Butch, with a distraught, emotion afflicted face. Butch was running headlong on to Arthur.

Slightly curious to what butch was running from, or to but worried that the butch had harmful intentions, as the previous two out of three people he had met had, Arthur readied his bat as a precaution. He ran right up to Arthur and grabbed his shoulders in a desperate bid to gain Arthur's help. Arthur gave Butch a cautious look as Butch clung to his suit, as he gripped the bat, resisting the urge to swing at the bully.

"You gotta help me! My mom's trapped in there with the rad roaches!"

"Your mums trapped where?" Arthur asked hesitantly, still brandishing the bat.

"In my room! C'mon we have to help her!"

"Alright, lead the way" Arthur said carefully pushing the body of Kendall to the corner of the corridor in a futile bid to prevent the body from being discovered.

Fortunately the room was only a corridor away and they quickly made it to the front door. Arthur stood waiting for Butch to go first; however Butch just looked at Arthur petrified. Arthur stood there listening to the screams of Butch's mother. Frustrated by Butch's inaction and to coax into movement, Arthur motioned to the door with his head with his eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape out of sheer shock Butch wasn't leading the charge to his own mothers rescue.

"I see you aren't one to be disposed to heroics then" Arthur scorned.

"Its dark in there man! You'll have to go in there on your own" Butch said nervously, edging away from the door.

"By god, you're a coward. Scum is too pleasant a compliant for you" Arthur disparaged as he moved into the open doorway.

In the room adjoining Arthur could hear the screams of Ellen, Butch's mother. Furniture and ornaments were scattered all over the room, showing the desperate struggle Ellen had made as she scrambled to the relative safety of the bedroom. Arthur stood on photo frames accidently as he cautiously walked to the door of the opposite room, keeping a wary eye out for any straggling radroaches. He approached the console and flipped the switch to slide the door open.  
>The door groaned and opened agonisingly slowly, clearly from ill maintenance and neglect. Around waist height Arthur bent over and slid under the door only to be met with the most overdramatic scene of carnage he had ever met.<p>

On a table stood the mother of the bully who had tormented him his whole life. Around her were three small radroaches nipping her feet. Arthur was amazed about how much fuss this brave trio of insects had made.

With his BB gun, he and Amata used to go hunting radroaches twice there size when he was a mere eleven years old. Arthur duly swung the bat at each of the radroaches and smashed there exoskeletons apart. Ellen who had continued here high pitched scream throughout fell into Arthur's arms in a most dramatic fashion as Butch finally found the courage to enter his home.

"Butchy! You saved me!" Ellen cried as she rose from Arthur's arms and pushed him away. Arthur was shocked, watching the episode in amazement. Butch embraced his mother in an impassioned hug.

"Much ado about nothing" Arthur muttered vehemently.

Butch ran over to Arthur with a beaming expression on his face

"We did it! You're the best friend I've ever had!"

"Oh, it was nothing" Arthur said sarcastically but truthfully.

"Here, take this. It's not much but it means a whole bunch" Butch said as he removed his leather jacket and passed it to Arthur. Arthur reluctantly accepted the gift.

"Thank you, I'll put it to good use, I'm sure." He said with his mind drifting.

"I will accept your gift in just a moment, if you could just bear with me for one minute" Arthur said as he handed back the jacket and walked from the room in a disenchanted fashion. Butch turned from his mother and gave her a smile of relief. She, however, pulled out a bottle of Vodka from the counter, one of the few things that was not smashed in the flurry of panic not five minutes before. Disregarded the shot glasses on the floor, she instead plugged her lips around the bottle and chugged away thirstily.  
>Butch looked at his mother disapprovingly as she drained half of the burning liquid in one take, but he daren't say anything, he had been on the receiving end of her alcohol induced rage before.<p>

She sighed with heavy relief as the room temperature alcohol hit her stomach and sat heavily, waiting to be absorbed into her blood stream, then she could finally be calm. Butch witnessed her eyes widen as she looked through the doorway from where she was sat on the sofa. She threw the bottle through the door as she screamed yet another pained howl. Butch was unaware of what she was screaming at until Arthurs back passed the threshold of the room, hunching over, straining as he dragged something into the room. Butch himself let out a loud, high pitch scream as he clutched at a pillow at the sight of Officer Kendall's corpse being dragged into the room with the sickening head rolling announcing that the officer was dead.

Arthur placed the body onto a rug in the middle of the room, where a turned over table used to be situated. He lifted himself up and calmly walked over to butch who had jammed himself into the corner of the room, clutching his protective pillow.

Arthur noted that he was visibly shaking, as if the room were minus fifty degrees. He looked around the room for the jacket that was his pathetic prize for a pathetic state of affairs. He spotted the jacket on the floor, just in front of Butch and he knelt down and picked up the garment. Butch whimpered as Arthur knelt down to the murdered body .Once again Butch let out a yelp at the sight of Arthur to closing the man's dead eyes. Arthur disregarded the dramatic duo and with the jacket in hand, he respectfully and carefully placed the jacket over the Officers face.

"Don't worry, he is dead. I thought he might be able to convalesce from this but he is dead" he said grimly, again frowning at the body.  
>"Other Officers, undoubtedly, will come here. When they do just point him out and they should take care of the rest. But as with all things, I leave this to your discretion; do to him with what you want. Notwithstanding my efforts for a peaceful resolution it would appear resolve is not a peaceful word to him, let it never be said the attempt to resolve the affair amicably was found lacking on my behalf." Arthur said and promptly walked from the room as Ellen yet again fainted as he passed her.<p>

Arthur gave one last solemn look back to the paled face of his victim. Little did his heart want more than to repent for his actions, but to emotional distress, relief would have to wait.

* * *

><p>Amata had been running from level to level for the past twenty minutes. She was trying to make her way up to the console systems that she was at before when she had shut down the doors. The route she took was through the stairs, deciding against another climb through the pipe hell hole which had caused her so much injury. The vault echoed with the screams of alarms and the Overseer's voice which urged calm. Amata found herself being repulsed by the sound of her father voice. With each word he said, a little bit of her grew against him. There were Officer Patrols everywhere and by now Amata suspected they had found the body of Officer Mack.<p>

The panic of the vault had truly set in. The rooms of people were locked and from them, crying of children and adults alike could be heard and if truth be told, Amata, under other circumstances would have joined them in the wailing. Nothing had been so melancholy in her life but this. The world as she knew it was thrown upside down in the most brutal of fashions. The objective she had set herself was to try and find out why James had left. She had made her way undetected to the upper levels once more but found her progress almost stop, for fear of being seen. Any concerted attempt to run the distance would have shown herself up to the guards that frequently patrolled the atrium. Her stealthy movements were agonisingly slow but they succeeded in hiding her.

She had managed to sneak her way right back to where she had started, and now she could start ripping information from the main computer console. Every file she opened she scanned quickly for the relevant information, searching for Arthur or James' name in particular, though a large majority of the files were meaningless code. Amata had worked herself into a craze, she was frantically typing at the keyboard of the mainframe, regardless of the pain in her fingers, but like a wild animal, whenever a sound came from the halls, she would dart her head upwards, searching intensely before tentatively returning to the keyboard. She was terribly exposed as the mainframe was both alongside a corridor and only metres away from the guard room where Jonas had died not long before.

Every file opened was a minute wasted. It was remarkable how she hadn't been caught yet; at least three times Amata had to dive for cover behind a pillar to avoid another squad on patrol. By now Amata had given up on the mainframe, it was a pointless exercise, resulting in no gains for invaluable time wasted. Amata was closing down the system and trying to wipe her digital fingerprint from the code when from the corridor leading to the security room came a large bang. Amata snapped her head around in a fight or flight reaction and froze to the spot.

From the doorway of the security room a figure was thrown out onto the floor, crashing painfully against the concrete, head first. The figure tried to scramble to its feet in a desperate gamble to flee from whatever was pursuing it. The figure scrambled two metres towards Amata before another figure entered the doorway. Amata looked on in intense curiosity as she tried to work out what was happening. The figure on the floor looked up to Amata and stared her right in the eye with a pained helpless look.

With this Amata knew she couldn't stand there any longer, lest the ominous assailant would see her too. The pillar was the tried and tested cover and she quickly darted behind it, steading her breathing and listening intently.

"No no no no no!" came a cry followed by a heavy fist hitting flesh.

There was a brief groan and a lot of pained heaving. Amata could only hear movements but couldn't translate them into actions. The rapid fumbling in the background sounded like a one way struggle, and imagination had the man on the floor at the losing end of it. More pained breathing and heaving followed as another punch was thrown, followed by a crumpling sound, probably of a man hitting the floor again. The room seems to compress around Amata's ears.

"Open the doors, Floyd" came a voice.

"I don't know how. I don't work on the computers, I'm a mechanic not a technician!" came the reply.

"Then explain why most of the doors to the lower levels are locked?" came the reply.

By now Amata had realised that the assailant was Chief Officer Hannon, a brute of a man, who was always punctual and dedicated to the cause of the vault. A nice enough man when he worked for you, as he did for Amata, but not a pleasant superior. On the floor audibly whimpering and crying was Floyd Lewis, a capable vault mechanic who had distinguished himself during The Incident a year ago and was widely lauded to succeed from Stanley. He was a quiet man, a loner by his own admission. Though Arthur was an aloof character, Floyd was difficult to get along with, lacking any scene of charisma.

Another bout of beatings made Amata cringe in pity for the man. She contemplated giving herself up to protect Floyd but she needed to protect Arthur, even if it meant the pain of Floyd.

"You have three seconds before I remove your manhood" came a grunt as Hannon forced Floyd against the wall.

"I can't! I swear to god I can't! I don't know who did it but I promise you on my life… my life… that I can't open them again. I was never taught!"

Hannon threw Floyd to the floor again.

"Then learn" he said as he kicked him in the stomach. Floyd coughed violently from the impact and writhed around on the floor. Hannon pushed Floyd along the floor to the console and booted him again for good measure. A visceral abstract image of the beating burned into Amata's mind, feeling nothing but raw pity for Floyd, who, whilst not deserving of the punishment, took the beating not in silence, but in a rancorous bout of cries and screams, tearing any sense of dignity from him. With each cry came a retort of anger from the Officer, who, far from being concerned for the wellbeing, positively relished in his sickening act of brutality.

"All I am asking, and it is quite simple, is for you to disengage those locks so my men can find him. That's all. Then you can go" he same, placing his foot on Floyd again.

"Okay, okay" he choked. "I'll do my best. But I swear to god, I don't know how to or who did" he said as he hoisted his battered body from the floor, grasping at the console.

A brief moment of inaudible activity passed.

"I… I … I…." Floyd stumbled

"You are going to get on to that damn computer and tell me who the fuck is fucking about with my vault!" he said assertively.

Amata's heart began to race even faster. She hadn't completed the full shutdown and if he told Hannon she would be in as much trouble as Arthur was. There wasn't even an escape route, as desperately as she tried to look for one. The pillar that kept her hidden also kept her trapped. She couldn't run for an exit, Hannon always carried a pistol and with the possibility of Floyd giving her up, she became increasingly worried about the outcome of the next few minutes. The room shrank even more as every sound was amplified and every movement translated by her mind and traced across the hall, creating an awareness of the locations of the two men, despite not having moved from her position for fear of capture.

"I can't do it. I told you I couldn't do it. Please don't hurt me" Floyd cried.

"I asked you to do one thing. Just one little thing" Hannon shouted back "Who did this! Who shut them down!"

"I …" Floyd said, glancing over to Amata's pillar. "I don't know" he said back unconvincingly.  
>"Liar!" Hannon shouted, laying into Floyd yet again. The beating was truly atrocious, Hannon kicked the man's head with his steel capped boots several times, accompanying that was a furious bout of punches to the abdomen, creating a rolled up Floyd, nose bleeding, on the floor crying for mercy.<p>

"She's over there!" he cried, trying to end the onslaught.

Immediately Hannon froze and Amata's heart gasped as she tightened her fists, trying to stop herself panicking. She knew that whatever beating Floyd was enduring she would also receive if Hannon got hold of her. Hannon was the definition of brainwashed. Her father had indoctrinated within him a deep passion for the Vault, at the compromised expense of compassion for other people.

"By the pillar, she did it. Speak to her, she locked the doors" he said sobbing.

Without a sound the officer approached the pillar. Amata couldn't do anything. If she moved she would be given away, if she stayed she would be given away. Frantically considering her options she pushed herself against the pillar, trying to find some way of avoiding the Officer.

"Boo" came a voice from Amata's ear sending her stumbling sidewards in sheer terror. The officer had assailed her position without a sound.

She fell to the floor, and as Floyd did, she scrambled for safety, but to no avail as the Officer grabbed her by the hair, forcefully dragging her into the middle of the room. She kicked and screamed the whole way. Little is more painful but less damaging than pulling hair and Amata was receiving this lesson first hand as she tried to push herself towards the direction of tension to lessen the pain. He released her by Floyd who gave her an incredibly apologetic look,

"I take it you heard all that then" Hannon said, bearing down from above her.

Amata said nothing but fearfully looked to her attacker. Her lips were quivering with an intense dread, but a different type of horror than she had experienced when she had shot Officer Mack, but no less potent. Hannon smiled as he saw an opportunity for his aggressive diplomacy. He upholstered the gun and cocked the hammer back.

"Don't hurt her" Floyd said, attempting to be gallant.

Officer Hannon gave them both a sly, intimidating look.

"I'm not going to hurt her" he said as he drew out his pistol to Floyd's leg and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

><p>I hope you're enjoying this. I know none of this happens in the actual game, but its always confused me as to why there were so many lose ends, missing wall segments for example. I am enjoying writing this very much but I would like your feedback on this. Its my first fan fiction and I need to test the water as it were. I would like something critical, highlighting pros and cons, so if anyone could do that for me, i would appreciate it very much. Again thankyou for reading and any comments that you may have, i would love to address them, so please feel free to either PM me or review.<br>Thankyou ever so much  
>Nathan<p> 


	5. Towards The Light

Semper Eadem

Reality and expectations are often two worlds apart. For example, the hope in Hannon's mind was that the 10mm bullet fired from his pistol and into Floyd's leg would cause a fountain of blood, a mess of bone, cartilage and tendons with a dramatic finale where the leg would fling its self across the room in the most dramatic of fashions, all to intimidate Amata, of course. However, the round duly sped its way down the barrel and left the muzzle of the pistol. Two loud, but distinctive, bangs shattered through the room. The first bang was the highly compressed gasses from the cartridge expanding at a phenomenal rate as they left the barrel, while the second bang, a sharper crack sound like bang was when the round passed the sound barrier. The round continued in the air for a fraction of a second, traveling four hundred metres per second, before connecting and slicing through the knee of Floyd. The round contacted the femur and caused the bone to shatter into several large pieces, causing massive internal damage. Fragments of the bullet splintered off, flying in all directions in Floyd's leg, causing the main femoral artery to be severed. From a medical perspective the immense damage would have been a sight to withdraw in horror from; however the simpler mind of Hannon was more concerned with effects, or lack thereof, and was left in great want of the desired theatrics.

Notwithstanding the rather poor display of gore, Hannon was more than content from the horrifying spectacle by Floyd's actions. The round had failed to cause the shock horror effect Hannon wanted, but it is axiomatic to say that Floyd's reaction aired on the extreme side of human pain, for which no blame can be attached to him. When the trigger was pulled he was stood straight up, watching in horror as his betrayal of Amata showed its grim consequences. Now he was on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Every movement and every muscle flex sent a level of pain which is unimaginable to those who have not witness it.  
>Floyd was screaming on the floor, caught between trying to grasp his leg and the pain he caused in doing so which forced him to back off, and so went the back and forth war for comfort. There were no tears in his eyes, only a bleak expression of the utmost pain as he gasped for air, which was not returning to his lungs as he was screaming such an extent. His face went scarlet and so deep and marked was the colour that his face matched that of the blood on the floor. Every vain and artery in his body was one hundred times more pronounced in a scene so grim, even the stony faced Hannon grimaced slightly.<p>

Amata screamed as the bullet percussed around the room, blocking her eyes and ears to the sound. What replaced the gunshot was nothing quieter, but vastly more intense. Amata saw the poor man writhing around in his own blood, crying for mercy and aid, watching the man beg on the floor for her help. He tried to grasp at her, urging for her to come forwards, to his aid. Tears rolled down Amata's eyes as she pulled herself from the floor towards him, trying to help in some small way.

Hannon watched the carnage with hidden delight. While the bullet did little to terrify Amata, Floyd's reaction was doing more damage to her than to Floyd, it would seem. With every heart wrenching scream she was torn apart. She continually struggled towards Floyd, trying to help him in any small way, but every movement towards him was met by an opposite reaction by Hannon, who dragged her away, intent on maker her suffer through his demise. What seemed like hours passed away in seconds and the face of Floyd was now milk white from blood loss, while his body writhed in pain so acute, he could feel nothing but pure agony.  
>Hannon walked over to the man and grabbed him by his collar and hoisted him to his knees. A harrowing scream reverberated throughout the vault as Floyds shattered knee contacted the floor. He tried to move weight off his destroyed leg, only to have Hannon, who by now was bearing over him, push down with his hands, increasing the suffering of his victim. Hannon forced Floyd to look Amata straight in the eye by gripping his face and turning it towards her. Amata had tears of absolute remorse for Floyd, and her expression was one of complete sorrow, for she knew what Hannon was about to do.<p>

Hannon knelt down to the wailing Floyd and whispered into his ear,

"Die with dignity."

Those words only brought about fresh tears from his eyes as an emotional pain at the realisation that his life was shortly coming to an end.

"I will ask you once, and only once. Open the doors."

Hannon gazed at Amata with eyes so devoid of sympathy that he made her father seem the most magnanimous of men.  
>The room was completely silent aside from the pained sobs of Floyd which occasionally broke the deathly silence as Amata froze to nothing and Hannon stared her down, both locked in a dangerous game of brinkmanship. Amata knew that Hannon would shoot Floyd, no matter the outcome, but she had to find a way to protect the man from more pain.<br>Hannon, after being woken up by alarms and summoned into an emergency meeting by the overseer was in no mood to play games with the Overseers princess. He cocked the hammer of the pistol and hovered it over Floyds shoulder.

"Please?" he asked sweetly, tilting his head slightly.

Amata still sat on the floor, avoiding any movement or facial expression, trying to buy time for anything. An opportunity which would never come, she knew well. In all honesty, she was hoping for her father to gallantly stride forth from his office and order the seething violence that brewed inside Hannon down, but after this morning, she knew that no such action, even if he were aware, would come from him.

Hannon stood there still, with his gunboat diplomacy upping the intensity each second. The suffering of Floyd was of no concern for him; he never was a man to confuse emotion with duty.

Disappointed with Amata's reaction, he pulled the trigger.

Another round span out of the barrel and straight into Floyd's scapula, shredding his back and the top of his lung. There was no cry of pain from Floyd, no grunt of exertion or screaming anguish, only a wide eyed, confused expression as he fell face first onto the concrete ground. Then came the most horrific bout of suffering the vault had ever laid witness too since the bombs first fell.  
>The body of Floyd went into a full spasm, his legs and arms flailing helplessly against the floor, not really in any articulate motion, just repeatedly pushing again the floor in a frenzy of shock and pain. All the while Hannon didn't even look at the scene, more interested in Amata's reaction.<p>

She, conversely, was in a state of pure morbid fascination as Floyds motions relentlessly attacked the floor; the way that he had no longer the energy or the will to cry out in pain, through some shock related process, but instead his body, far from his own control, fought with itself for supremacy over the indomitable. The way his limbs moved so rapidly but uncontrolled astounded her. The thought of millions of years of evolution wasted by a small piece of metal passing through a body truly astounded her, and brought back the reality of the world she so naïvely lived in.

"Please, for the love of god. Stop!" she begged finally.

"There's only one way sweetheart." came the macabre reply.

Amata lifted herself up from the ground and ran over to the console, and, as quickly as she could, the doors opened one by one. From the forty plus doors she had locked closed, one had remained open from her rushed attempt to save Arthur. It is axiomatic to state that the one door had had the consequence of two people dead, unbeknownst to her. And while she had every intention to save Arthur, the closing of the doors had forced him into the maze, as well as the Guards, a one way system of an inevitability that Arthur, somewhere, was going collide into a guard, and it was because of her. She had allowed the guards to reach him and she had failed to save him from encountering them again.  
>A wave of guilt attacked her as she realised that most, if not all of the problems she had attempted to mitigate, had come true, a self-fulfilling prophesy. And now she was betraying him again, albeit to save a man from pain by pushing him to death, but no outcome was a good one, no roads lead to home, for Arthur or her, she was beginning to conclude.<p>

She entered the final lines of code to open the doors, and with one press of the key, from within the vault, the doors duly unlocked themselves obediently, willingly endangering the one person she loved the most for a life that was going to be ended by a man so keen on death, he had made it a spectacle.

Hannon breathed in heavily and out again, punctuating his relief by closing his eyes.

"Thank you" he said as he aimed at the head of the now motionless, but alive, Floyd.

One final gunshot rang from the gun as it took away all the pain, all the suffering and all the distress Floyd was in.  
>From the deafening sound came utter silence, the gravity of the situation demanded a solemn silence be observed, which Hannon briefly complied with, then broke.<p>

"Now you, you have some questions to answer" Hannon said as he turned to her. "Come along princess, nice and easy. You'll learn quickly, the worst is yet to come"

By now the Vault had completed its rapid descent into chaos. Every peaceful moment that ever existed in the vault had ceased to be as wailing sirens and flashing lights illuminated the vault. The diner where Arthur and Amata used to go after school was no a derelict mess.

Arthur stood at the door way, briefly recounting his memories there; the counter where he had first received his Pipboy, the tables where James would take Arthur and Amata for tea when they had been well behaved or some other such achievement. Now the room was a state, the lights were off in the room, but a small beam of light entered through the doorway, marking a path to a body in the centre of the room.  
>Every moment spent in the vault now seemed meaningless. What possible skills, aside from his medical ones, would have any positive effect on the outside?<p>

On the floor in the room was an old woman, named affectionately as Grandma Taylor. Arthur had little to do with her aside from walking past her occasionally. But there was something extremely sad about her death, the way that the old were discarded as they could no longer materially benefit the vault. Arthur walked over to the corpse, avoiding the overturned tables and features. The woman, likely, had a heart attack during the intense excitement that the vault was undergoing; poignant reminder that not only he and Amata were effected or going to be affected, by this disaster of a day.

He could do nothing for the dead lady and stood up to leave the diner. As he approached the door, he heard the sounds of someone running down the hall. The distinct rattle of webbing and equipment marked out the person as an Officer.  
>Arthur hid himself against the wall, far enough back to be hidden in the darkness, adjacent to do door, once again trying to avoid the confrontation that had claimed two lives.<br>The footsteps slowed, and almost crept towards the door, forcing Arthur to cringe with anticipation and grip the bat tightly in foresight of the inevitable clash, once more.

"Oh my god" came a shocked gasp. "Oh no. Not you"

Arthur readied himself for the engagement as the footsteps indicated movement towards the door.  
>An officer walked through the archway and approached the lady, not noticing Arthur, who by now was slowly moving backwards to hide himself better. The officer switched on a torch in the blackened room, hovering over the body with great sadness.<p>

Arthur continued his slow retreat into the darkness, stepping blindly into a minefield of potential noises. A step backwards landed upon a plate, which, rather than breaking, slid under Arthur's foot, unstabilising Arthur as he fell to the floor in an orchestra of noise and destruction as other plates, on a nearby table, slid off too.

The officer instinctively shone his torch at Arthurs face, blinding him as his eyes slowly adjusted. In a frantic fashion, Arthur grasped for his baseball bat, which by now had slid across the floor, out of his reach. Arthur was suspended in two actions, one half of still falling over the debris, and the other half shielding himself, desperately trying to stand up.

"Whoa! Whoa son! It's just me, I just want to talk to you for a minute" came the voice which was hidden behind the blinding light.

"It's me, Gomez? Don't worry I just want to talk" The officer said.

Arthur, still shielding his eyes, stopped flailing and gasped a degree of calm from the situation, slowly pulling himself up, using a table as a support. Arthur let his guard down to the officer, for he knew that officer Gomez was the most affable of all the vault security team.

Gomez walked over to Arthur, who by now had managed to regain his posture and had retrieved his bat.

"You're lucky I found you, the others won't be so forgiving" the officer said troubled. "I don't know what you're up to and I…I don't want to know, just clear out of here and I'll pretend I never saw you." He said looking at the body

"Thank you, Officer Gomez, though you must understand, I did not cause or ask for this."

"I know son, I know. This is just real messed up"  
>Arthur nodded in agreement. The officer once again looked to the body.<p>

"It's a real shame it's come to this, I can't believe what they did to Jonas… Officer Mack was just out of control." He paused. "You didn't do anything to deserve this, go find your dad if you can." he said, indicating to the door.

"Circumstances to which I have no control" Arthur said solemnly, looking at the floor slightly.  
>The officer nodded. Without words or pomp, Arthur walked from the room, both knowing they could do little for each other, but if truth were told, he was grateful he encountered Gomez, a little bit of civility in the untamed rage of the vault.<p>

Arthur now was nearly at the Atrium level, which would place him directly under the overseer's office and one such escape route, he hoped, though he was unsure of which route Amata intended to meet him at. Nonetheless he proceeded with the intention of leaving through the direct, and probably most defended way, though he expected the resistance to be nothing more than a guard or two at most, the rest being on patrols in the lower levels which he had now evaded, it would seem.  
>He rounded the top of the stairs only to be met with a scene so unlike recent circumstances that Arthur had to double take. In the foyer there were people, calmly chatting amongst themselves, discussing the most recent and scandalous events, key among them was the topic of Arthur escape, or lack thereof, with many speculating he was a terrorist and needed to be stopped. Many were more sympathetic and were content on calling James a coward instead. Stranger still was that nobody saw him. Everyone was so engaged in their speculation that of the room of twenty, not one eye balanced on Arthur. Taking advantage of this, he moved quickly, with his head downwards, looking to the floor, to the other end of the room, trying to find the exit.<p>

He walked over to a corridor where the principle entrance to the vault was, which was guarded by a small team of about six guards, all of which looked on edge, and were holding an assortment of fire arms, a menacing site for one man, armed currently with a bat. Arthur decided against wasting his life for heroics and moved off to the overseer's office in some hope of finding a secret escape route. However, as he made his way over to the staircase, which was blocked open in some convenient way, there was a commotion behind Arthur, which prompted him to turn about.

From the private murmurings came a rebellious voice, dissatisfied by the years under ground, the youth was rallying people to his newfound cause, an opportunistic rebel finding a voice in a opportunity.

"Don't you see? We don't have to take this. We can get out of here, right now, just like the doctor." Said Tom Holden, forcing his way to the front of the crowd.

"We don't have to let anyone stop us." he asserted.

Mary stood dutifully behind him, proving the moral support for his campaign. In the room there were several murmurs of agreement as the situations stirred.  
>"So come on, what are we waiting for? They can't stop us. Not all of us." he rallied.<br>The crowd shifted slowly towards the door, gravitating there as the guards readied themselves with their weapons and armour. Arthur stood by the side, watching, silently wishing the rioters to succeed.

As the crowed continued to mutter with agreement with Tom's rebellious ideas, they also advanced down the hall. Each step they took brought them closer to their freedom, as they too were dissatisfied with the Overseers authoritarian figure. No longer were they to stand by while an unelected leader forced their lives in any direction he wanted. The guards, however, had no such qualms with the Overseer.  
>As the crowd began picking up pace, so the guards prepared themselves more, readying themselves for the clash. There was a sudden hiatus of movement on both sides in the corridor, as the crowd came to a sudden halt. From within the morass, walked out Tom Holden as the one man delegation walked towards the guards, intent on delivering his demands, and like Moses himself, he would lead his people out into the desert of the apocalypse.<p>

From the back of the crowd, which Arthur had joined out of sheer curiosity, knowing the attempt would be fruitless, but nonetheless he could gauge the response of the guards.

Tom approached a guard, striding forth with a high degree of self-confidence, urged on by his self-righteousness and the thirty people behind him, which was growing by the minute, astounding considering the tone of the vault was condemning what they were now rallying to do, all too keen to fight their way through, if need be.

The opening of correspondence was marked by a confident oration by Tom, attacking the guards with his liberal ideas, his naive outlook of the world outside which he had never seen and a final, tumultuous cry to the mass of people behind him to rally with him, that is to say, to cheer as loud as they could. Bereft of cockades, they were the revolutionaries.  
>The security team viewed the new revolutionaries in a negative manner and the leader of the team simply walked over to the orating Tom and pushed him over.<p>

Humiliated, he pushed himself dramatically to his feet and his sister, Mary ran over to him, offering a comforting presence to the reddening Tom. To this action the mob grew silent, as another standoff began in the vault.  
>Slowly, the less reputable citizens began shouting insults to the guards, then it became objects, evolving all the time into a more and more decrepit state, to such a point as the mob started to use furniture to batter their way through the shield wall the guards had now erected in their defence. The entire scenario was becoming a weak crucible, inevitably bound to break.<p>

Notwithstanding the more moderate of the crowds please to calm the situation, the mob in general both grew in strength as other families joined the micro-revolution, and in anger, viewing the guards more of perpetrators of their suffering, rather than an entity to the vaults protection, to which they were more akin.

The gathering was quickly becoming violent; furniture was used as weapons, bottles thrown at the guards. There was no reply from the guards, instead their reaction was to equip their shields and form a blockade across the corridor, preventing the mob from moving forward, try what they might.

Then a sudden bout of violence erupted sporadically in the mob, as they charged the officers, using anything as clubs or weapons, anything to part the wall. Rioters grabbed at the shields, trying to rip them away with their bare hands, so desperate was their attack. All the while the guards stood dutifully in the position to receive the enemy.

Tom himself was at the forefront of the fight, trying to rip the shield from a guard, only to be hit backwards in the ongoing melee. Mary was also exacting revenge for her brother's embarrassment, as she threw discarded chunks of concrete and other assorted projectiles at the wall of guards, quite out of herself on the rampage she was participating in.

Arthur stood quietly at the back of the crowd, not participating rather than watching the events unfold. He was a spectator in and amongst the carnage. He began into his world of compressed thought, analysing the prospects for both the guards and the rioters. He concluded that the position the guards were in was untenable, they would be compressed against the back wall and then be dragged apart by the crowd's superior numbers. The only advantage they held, that is to say cohesion, would be destroyed the second the wall either broke or could not hold all the rioters back. Similarly Arthur viewed the rioter's prospects. They had formed a massive human wave which in one form or another was throwing its self against the guards and it was working, to an extent. If the guards had reinforcement of approximately five guards, they could compress the crowd from both ends, rendering their advantage a weakness. The spirit of the mob would likely be broken rapidly by the sudden changed in fortune and they would all be arrested post haste.

However what happened next was something which Arthur thought the vault team was incapable of, not because they lacked the facility, but the moral will to embark upon such a course of action.

Obscured from Arthur's view, the guards were readying themselves for the second part of the engagement. Their orders were clear; no one was to leave the vault, not exceptions, no excuses. To them, the order justified everything and the crowd was the impetus for the action.

From the line formation, three men broke off, equipping small containment devices, gas grenades. Compound 2-chlorobenzalmalononitrile, commonly known as tear gas, adversely affects its targets. It caused temporary blindness, asthma, coughing and general incapacitation. Used primarily as crowd control in days gone by; the gas was stored in the vault as a precautionary measure to be used in the vaults defence. The guards donned their gasmasks as they rotated into the line to allow others to equip theirs at the rear.

When the guards had all equipped their masks, from a duffle bag, they pulled out three small sub machineguns, again purported for the Vaults defence. Magazines were silently loaded as the few guards manning the wall fended off yet more attacks. Within three short minutes three out of the six guards were ready with the gas canisters, their machineguns loaded and readied, while the other three guards had donned their gas masks, still holding back the onslaught of rioters, and were preparing themselves for the inevitable. The seven faceless guards slowed their breathing, each fighting an internal moral battle, trying to calm themselves for what they will do.

One of the faceless looked at his commander, who in turn looked back at him. They were both fortunate they were wearing gas masks, because they couldn't bear to look each other in the eye.  
>A Silent nod came from the commander, which the guard received and acknowledged by pulling the pin on his gas grenade, which in turn prompted the other two guards to do the same.<br>The grenades sat loosely in the guards hands, as each one awaited the order to throw it. The guard's eyes darted back and forth from the crowd, to the three man strong guard wall and their commanding officer, who by now had walked from the line, and was standing beside them.

He was resolute in his decision; no one was to leave the vault, regardless of the cost. Witnessing the crowd relentlessly attack the shield wall gave the man no qualms about his actions; there was nothing stopping him from giving the order. The Overseer had advocated, or rather, endorsed the order to kill if must be, and lives were cheap. One man's death is a tragedy, many are a statistic, he reasoned.

He looked to his fearful men, who were trembling at the actions they had not yet committed. He scowled at their weakness, as he stared one down, watching the guard shake his head, disagreeing with himself, fighting the moral considerations. To this the officer walked over to the trembling guard and placed himself inches away from his face. If they weren't wearing gas masks he could have smelt his breath.  
>"Now." came the simple order from the officer.<p>

Such small words can have the greatest implications. All the death that followed was a result of one man, positioning his men in such a way that they would be forced, despite their objections, to do his command. No man could stand before what was now a crowd of fifty without fear of death, notwithstanding all their armour and training. And nothing can prepare you for the effect of fear; the way it chills you in such a way where even the simplest of actions are indescribably harder, and every decision you make you look back upon and wonder why the choice was made, so confusing is it that it defies all attempt at logic, unaccountable for its actions, it is a stain on you, an irreversible choice made by you, despite all remonstrance. In hindsight all choices are bad ones, for when we account for them, we omit emotion and fear, the sole factors in the decision at that time, not the logic, nor the ramifications, just pure, savage emotion.

With the order the three men threw their grenades into the crowd, and almost immediately there was a distinct hissing sound penetrating the vault, despite all the shouting, crying, yelling and swearing, the deathly hiss was far louder and more distinct than any word said, and everyone heard it.

Three white pillars of smoke billowed out from within the crowd as the smoke churned in the air as it spread through the corridor. Those immediately around the smoke were violently coughing and choking on the air and those further away were rubbing their eyes, trying to rid the burning sensation that had attacked them.  
>Witnessing the people choking many in the crowd began trying to escape from the viscous smoke which in turn caused a stampede which only served to render any escape impossible.<br>As the people fell, they blocked the way for others who, consequently, fell over them as they closed their eyes in a vain attempt at protecting themselves from the gas. Those at the back of the crowd managed to escape quickly enough but those who either fell or were at the front were subject to the ravenous effects of the gas.

Within a minute the crowd was either incapacitated on the floor or had fled, allowing the guards to advance from their defensive position. Despite them winning the battle, the commander pulled out his pistol and began summarily executing victims on the floor. Each person he came across he would place his foot on their jaw and force their head to the ground, and with one neat shot to the temple, he would end them.

The rest of the team copied this act and almost all of those who had succumbed to the gas were shot within another minute, with no remorse handed out to anyone, regardless of age, gender or position, a true egalitarian slaughter.

Arthur was among the few lucky enough to have been in a position where the gas rendered to them a warning, rather than a threat and as soon as the crowd began running, they had already withdrawn. He looked on in horror as the gas screen protected anyone from attacking the guards as they executed the majority unfortunate enough not to have been able to run away. He lay witness to the horrific sight of the Holden siblings, writhing on the floor with bleeding eyes, choking on air which destroyed and scarred their insides, be executed, without ado, on the floor by two separate in descript guards, a spectacle of police brutality in the extreme.

The smoke lingered in the room, refusing to disperse for want of ventilation, making any attempt of rescuing those damned on the floor an exercise in futility, but that didn't prevent Arthur from trying.

He ran into the cloud, trying to pull anyone from the air, only to be forced to retreat from the onslaught of pain that the cloud brought to his eyes as it endlessly assaulted them. Finally, in a raging coughing fit and with eyes watering from the gas, he was rendered incapable of protecting those only a mere few metres away.  
>With gunshots ringing through the vault, those who had managed to escape ran for protection, some helping those they could, others finding those in need a hindrance to their own lives as they ran over them in their frenzied attempt at fleeing.<p>

One such hero had seen Arthur fall to the floor, overcome with the gas, and had helped him up and without Arthurs knowledge or consent, he found himself being carried from the room, arm slung around his savoir. After a short while he was deposited on the floor, in a room with people of varying degrees of injuries. One person was even crying out from a doctor.

"James? Where is James? Jonas?" came the call of the woman who was clearly not abreast of the situation regarding Arthurs farther.

Arthur wasn't sure how many people were in the room, or even how many people got away but by the time of the shooting, approximately half of the vaults 200 residents had shown up either to participate in or spectate the riots, and when the guards began firing, there were roughly 70 shots into the crowd. He estimated 30 people were dead and possibly 60 were injured just as he was.  
>Arthur was in his own world of compressed thought again when someone accidently kicked him as they walked passed, throwing him back into awareness of the room. Arthur couldn't see very well and with his best guess, it would take about 10 minutes for his sight to return and the pain to cease, that is to say cease enough to continue. In the meantime Arthur found himself a wanted man in a room full of blinded citizens, a dream situation to some, and Arthur remarked at the fact that he could stay here for a considerable length of time without being noticed. Nonetheless he elected to, as soon as was possible, continue on for the vault exit, but now he would need to find Amata to help him, as only she and her father knew where the Overseer's exit was.<p>

"And where is she now?"

"Outside sir."

"Is she harmed?"

"She has some cuts on her fingers but it's nothing to do with us."

"And the boy?"

"Still missing"

"And you're sure he wasn't in the crowd?"

"Yes sir. We have identified the bodies and he isn't one of them"

The Overseer leant back in his chair as he drummed his fingers against the desk in deep thought. He was aware of the shootings not long ago and Arthur had been spotted among the crowd. However when the shootings began it became impossible to locate him within the crowd of one hundred. The Overseer from his vantage point had seen glimpses of Arthurs and Amata's movements on the large panel of screens adjacent to his desk, which used the surveillance cameras to form a pantograph of most of the vault. Everything was catalogued in secrecy, from Amata's shooting of Mack to Arthurs killing of Kendall, but, despite the success of the surveillance, actually capturing them was a massive problem. The operation was marred by limitations from communicational problems between guards to the doors randomly shutting themselves locked which placed a strenuous weight upon the Overseer. However, despite the failings of his team, they had managed to capture his daughter and ensure she was both out of danger and away from Arthur and his insubordinate actions.

"Thank you Carter. See to it the bodies are removed and burnt in due course. Start planting evidence to blame it on the crowd and keep in contact; I don't want any more mishaps. Perhaps we can complete this with some degree of efficiency." the Overseer thanked and with that, the Officer left the room.

The Overseer looked to the screens and began searching again for any clue on Arthur's location. Each room was meticulously checked, including Amata's, and with each room showing no further indication to Arthur's whereabouts, the Overseer grew increasingly frustrated.  
>Eventually, confounded by his own lack of success, he slumped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He needed a moment to calm down. The morning had been extremely tense and with all his problems and the incompetence of his own staff he had but little respite.<br>Time was pressing on, however, and, as much as he willed against it, time was being wasted, and he was an efficient man.  
>The overseer lent over to a small voice console by his desk and pressed a button to contact Hannon. The component made a small buzzing noise and within three seconds Hannon had replied.<p>

"Sir" he reported.

"Bring her in" he replied.

However there was no reply from Hannon, and instead a few silent moments filled the room as the overseer prepared to receive his daughter. There already was a chair set up for her interrogation and some intimidating looking objects, such as batons, left on his desk, just to frighten her.  
>The Overseer began thinking about the best way to extract the information about James and Arthur, and his own office, perhaps, was not the best of choices, given that she worked so long in here, a familiar surrounding would only lessen the impact he sought to create. He decided that it would be far more logical to host the interrogation in the security room, only a few metres away. This would both increase the fear factor and shout severity at her without a single word being uttered. The Overseer again lent down and pressed the buzzer.<p>

"Hannon, go to the security room, bring her too." he ordered.

Again, no reply came but the Overseer was content that his will was being carried out.

He pulled himself out of his chair and began towards the door, intent on ending all that conspired against him in the past few hours, and to start an ending he must start with his own child. He left the room quietly and made his way over to the security room and began setting up the chairs for the interrogation. He placed all fatherly thoughts and concerns behind a curtain of resolution for the vault, notwithstanding all the damage he had done to it within the last few hours. The killings had been an unfortunate but necessary expense to quell what could have been more and the repulsive nature of his guards was suppressing further uprisings, for the time being.

The Overseer sat in total silence for a few minutes, waiting patiently for Hannon to bring his daughter, but during those minutes no thought of remorse passed through his thoughts, just necessity and retribution, and Arthur, who, still, was frustrating the efforts of the Overseers security team, despite their intended best efforts.

Suddenly from the silence came a hiss as the door slid open, but once again the room filled with silence. Nobody moved, not the Overseer, not Hannon and not his captive, instead an insidious silence crept into the room and infested the bones of Amata. She was in a state of pure exhaustion and adrenalin, powered by nothing more than chemical impulses to keep her alert, despite her exhausted state brought on by physical and emotional turmoil.

"In." finally said the Overseer.

With the command Hannon dragged Amata into the room by the arm as she stumbled through the doorway, having given up on resisting Hannon's grip. Hannon dragged her weak body to the chair in the centre of the room, placing her firmly down and kicking away his own chair in another exhibition of his authority over her.

The Overseer finally broke his gaze away from space to look disappointedly at his daughter who, in turn, avoided his look at all cost.

"Amata." He started. "What have you done?" he said, not in an angry voice, but in a fatherly, compassionate way that Amata didn't recognise or even think her father possessed.  
>Her father walked over by her side and crouched down, not looking at her but rather along her side, so their glances went parallel to each other.<p>

"Do you know how much trouble you have caused?" he asked cynically, but prompting no response from Amata. "I know what you did, Amata. I know you killed Officer Mack. I've seen the footage. There is no denying it." He positioned. "Amata, don't you see? This is because of that… that outlandish Arthur and his insubordination."

"This hasn't got anything to do with him!" she shouted back, finally breaking from her silence due to her intense rage at her father's accusation. The Overseer in kind recoiled a little, not expecting such a reply.

"Oh but it has everything to do with him. I know what he has done to your mind, those games he plays, trying to turn you against me, lying through his teeth to alienate you from me."

"He hasn't done anything" she reaffirmed. "You're the monster here, whatever James has done, it doesn't involve him. You have no right doing what you did to him."

"Amata, can you not hear yourself?" he said, raising his voice and tone to a loud, authoritarian voice, full of accusation and relentless uncontested power. "You yourself have been lying to me for months! He is a parasite, feeding off your emotions, an instrument of his father to get at me! Don't you dare claim his innocence; I know what your little 'friendship' has become!"

Amata froze at the sudden realisation that her father might know about her relationship with Arthur, however, against probability she hoped he was referencing something else, rather than the string of lies that had been told to the Overseer.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She hastily replied, more incriminatingly that convincingly.

"I know what you have been doing with him. I've seen the footage; I know that you're in a relationship with him. I've been filming you and him for months." He stated in his usual, slow and powerful voice.

"You were spying on us?" she asked angrily.

"I supervised your actions. Yes." He acknowledged.

Amata found herself in a terrible rage at the fact her own father had been spying on her for at least a few months. The Overseer, she postulated, must have known everything.

"Why?" she shouted.

"To protect the vault." Came the reply.

"How has my personal life got anything to do with the vault?" she challenged.

"It's got everything to do with it. Just look at your actions today. They are all consequences of your relationship with Arthur. It's him making you do these atrocities, not me or you. I know you're better than him and I know you wouldn't do such a thing in your right mind. You are simply infatuated with him and you can't see the damage you have done. That is why I have monitored you." He defended.

"Monitor? Don't make this seem like it was in my interests" she seethed.

"You are part of the vault and that is all the justification I need." He replied.

"Where have you been recording us from? How often have you been recording us" she demanded.

The Overseer gave no reply but stared into his daughter's eye.

"You've not been spying on us in our bedrooms…have you?" she demanded.

There was no reply from the Overseer, but his silence was as disclosing as any admission.

"You had no right! Why did you even think that you could have done that? What type of sick person are you? I'm your own daughter. That's sick, you're sick and he is sick!" she said as she pointed at Hannon during here raging speech as the anger of the day finally spilled over her.

The Overseer could see his plan to break Amata was working; she was already in an emotional state and all that was left to do was make her fully aware of her position in the vault.

"And you had no right to take that man's life." He replied coldly.

Amata opened her mouth to continue the argument but she knew that her father had won. She didn't dare bring up her father's killing of Jonas; she didn't have the stomach to use dead men as ammunition. Amata still was unaware of the shootings down in the Atrium nor did she know about Arthur killing Kendall; to all intents and purposes, she was blind to the actions of others; the same, however, cannot be said about her father.

"Now are you going to tell me where he is?" he asked patronisingly.

"I don't know where he is" she replied truthfully.

The Overseer sighed with frustration over what he perceived as his daughters lies.

"Very well." He said stepping back. "Would you like to try?" he asked, looking at Hannon, who replied with a cynical grin.

"It would be my pleasure."

Twenty minutes had passed since Arthur had been helped into the makeshift infirmary, and approximately five minutes since he had left due to his sight being restored to a degree where he thought it apt to continue about his horrific day. The mission was still the same, escape, but the conditions around his escape had changed, as well as his paradigm. No longer was he just trying to escape from a vault to search for his father, but now he was escaping from what was a prison where the head of state could do whatever he wanted, justified only by use of force.  
>While Arthur politically did not agree with full democracy, he did agree with responsibility and accountability of leaders, and no leader should place his position above that of his constituents, let alone force them below him in a pyramid of subjugation where the police force is more an instrument of will, rather than peace.<p>

Arthur had been making good progress towards the upper level, keenly avoiding the foyer where the slaughter had taken place, if not for avoiding the guards, then for avoiding all the death that invariably covered the place. The vault by now was deafly quiet and every step that Arthur took he could hear again through the echo of the vault which made for paranoid progress.

The auxiliary stairs which lead up to the higher level, or rather, the Overseers level, were only a few metres away after Arthur had rounded his final corner. The stairs were unguarded and invitingly open in spite of all the guards doubtlessly running around the vault in search of him. He slowly and specifically approached the stairs, anticipating a trap, which did not materialise even when he was but five metres away and in clear view from the corridor. Arthur looked around as a paranoid feeling seeped into him, convinced as he was that the walls must have had ears.  
>Arthur braved off the trepidation as he took his first step onto the metal staircase that unexpectedly groaned under his weight. Mortified by the sound he immediately retracted his foot and began nervously scanning the room for signs of a response.<p>

None came, a convincing argument that there was, despite logic and all premises, no threat.

Arthur always was one to err on the side of caution, he was never one to dispose of himself to rash actions; caution is the virtue of the successful.

Each footstep on the metal stair made the joints groan painfully as Arthur began his ascent into the unknown, still anxiously searching the area to find any sign of the guards. He was now acutely aware of what they were prepared to go through to achieve their goals; a stark contrast to Arthurs tentative steps for fear of being seen.

When Arthur had finally braved his final steps of the stairs he was confronted with what was almost total silence, aside from a very distant conversation but too hushed by distance to decipher anything from hence. However Arthur had more pressing matters, such as the location of Amata for, despite his good progress, he was now confronted by a wall of indeterminate disposition, specifically he was left in want of direction to the Overseers hidden escape tunnel or even the means to access such an invaluable asset. However, the prospect of finding Amata at either the source of the conversation or in the general direction tempted Arthur to continue towards the voices, but it would, invariably, as he knew, take him closer to the Overseer. Or he could, he postulated, stay put and wait for Amata to show up, but this also carried the inherent danger of the guards finding him too.

After several seconds of due deliberation Arthur sided with the former rather than the latter, both, he thought, would probably end in capture and to prevent humiliation he would walk towards, rather than wait for the conclusion; and so, with one more cautious search around the hallways, he set off to the uncertainty of a distant heard conversation.

With each step closer Arthur could hear more and more of the conversation which had by now devolved into more of shouting with the occasional interlude of cries of pain. Arthur turned a corner into one of the mainframe areas where the large computers were stacked against the wall. On the floor was a body, leaking blood on the floor, a sight which Arthur was unprepared for. The body was in a state where it was unrecognisable. The kneecaps of the body were missing entirely, replaced only by small but messy holes and the face of the body was also missing entirely, replaced by an exit hole that entirely covered where the face should have been. Arthur looked on at the repulsive sight; whoever the person was there was no dignity in their death, as shown by the trails of blood that served to give away the movements of the person before they died. Arthur felt incredibly distressed at the sight not only for the sheer gore, but that whoever had killed the person was a guard, proving that the actions in the foyer were not an isolated case, but a systematic attempt to contain what Arthurs own father had started. This hit home the point that James had indirectly caused all the death today; all the guards actions were a response to his rather unprompted escape.

Arthur decided not to get into the civil war of morality and instead rose to his feet, intent on leaving such a melancholic sight, of which he had no stomach for and with one last look to the body, continued onto the cries.

As Arthur approached the final corner to the room where the shouting was coming from he could finally hear the voices and make out the people involved. He was horrified that he identified Amata as the one who was screaming with pain occasionally and with the Overseers calm veneer of civility talking over her, trying to gain what he couldn't afford to lose, that is to say he couldn't afford to let Arthur escape too.  
>Arthur pressed up against the wall and approached close to the room, hiding under the glass pane, just as Amata had done earlier in the day. He then started to listen closely, aware that he was not helping Amata, but to charge in blind and armed with only zeal would leave him at such a disadvantage it would render all his exertions for the day pointless in the face of the Overseer who probably had a radio with which to contact the guards nearby; so, despite his significant other's cry for help, he would need time to think what to do, at the expense of her.<p>

"Please, Amata, Officer Hannon may enjoy this but I don't. Just tell us where to find you friend so we can talk to him." He insidiously proposed.

"He didn't do anything to deserve this." she sobbed.

"I know he didn't, which is why you have to tell me where he is before he gets in trouble." He implored.

A second after the Overseer had finished speaking came a cry as Hannon bent Amata's fingers back, pushing hard at the gash's in her fingers, which evoked a louder cry than Hannon had intended.

To that, Arthur had taken more than he could bear and he withdrew his bag from his back and began rooting around for the pistol and the ammunition, with the intention of using it on Hannon but to only intimidate the Overseer into letting her go free.

Arthur found the pistol and inserted a magazine into the aperture and slid the slide back, releasing the safety as he went. Arthur breathed deep as he mentally prepared himself for what he was going to do. Arthur truly didn't want to kill anybody, he gained no satisfaction from the abhorrent act of murder nor did he gain any pleasure from being in such situations that demanded such reactions, but Arthur's tenacity to save Amata was greater than the impetus not to kill Hannon, for the salvation of the one he loved. Closing his eyes, he stood up at the door, but still out of sight, and breathed for but five seconds, savouring the calm.  
>His eyes opened and his hand activated the console and with that the door began to part open.<p>

As the door slid past Arthurs face it revealed three faces with shocked expressions to match. Without hesitation Arthur drew his arm up to the height threateningly and began a staring match with Hannon and the Overseer. Such was the speed that their current circumstance was upon them, no one in the room reacted, not even Arthur had anticipated such a successful reaction. His gaze briefly broke to Amata who pitifully looked to him with a slightly relieved expression. Only a few seconds, hardly half a minute, had passed but the silence seemed to drag time out far beyond its limits.

"Amata, get out." He said, trying to hold his threatening position.

Amata duly tried to leave the room without hesitation but as she rose to her feet Hannon made a grab at her, trying to prevent their one bargaining chip from escaping. To this, Arthur moved the pistol in his direction and moved it slightly to the side in a brisk fashion, to indicate that Hannon should move back. However the powerful man was never one to be ordered around by those younger than him and instead of complying, he push Amata back down in her seat and slowly began walking towards Arthur.

"You haven't got what it takes…" he grinned.

"You ain't got the stones for it. You and your cushy life, I'll show you." His voice was menacing and low, somewhat monotone and meticulous in its delivery, punctuated with precisely timed pauses, lingering on the vowels for impact. To this new threat that was walking towards Arthur he took a step backwards and gave a defying look.

"Hannon, don't force me" he said, shaking a little, only encouraging the Officer with his apprehension.

"I don't even think it's loaded" he said chuckling to himself.

Without a moment's hesitation and with seven feet between them, Arthur had no words to convey a suitable message, so, notwithstanding his absolute disdain of the amount of death that had surrounded the day, he pulled the trigger on the pistol.

The bullet slammed into the gut of the towering officer with a heavy thud, followed by a second thud as the man fell to the floor, clutching his gut and gasping for air. He writhed around on the floor, wanting to scream in agony but restrained by the seer pain in his abdomen and as the three sets of eyes in the room stared at him, all the life drained from his wound and he was quickly unconscious, pending death.

Arthur turned to look at a shocked Amata and Overseer staring either at him or the body.

"Amata, please, go" Arthur reinstated.

Amata stood and fled from the room without further ado, walking carefully over the body of Hannon.

Arthur then turned to the Overseer in kind. He stood a good distance away from him, with the body in the foreground, and the Overseers back against a wall in the far corner of the room. However to the surprise of Arthur the Overseer wasn't scared or anxious in anyway, but instead held a stern countenance, frowning back at Arthur with utter disdain with eyes that looked on in an entirely detestable fashion.

"I hope you're here to turn yourself in young man."

Arthur looked to the body on the floor with a slightly incredulous look on his face

"Evidently not." he replied.

"You're already in enough trouble as it is; don't make it worse for yourself."

Arthur ignored the accusation and decided to go on an assault of his own. He closed the gap between the two of them, still brandishing the pistol, and forced the Overseer against the wall in anger.

"I swear to god, there is no greater or nobler a cause than killing you, the only thing that prevents your death is your affiliation to Amata, if you ever touch her again you will regret every moment you live thereafter." Arthur spat.

"Arthur," the Overseer grinned, clearly finding Arthurs Achilles heel, "You have my word, no harm will come to her. I can't say the same for you; do you know how much trouble you've caused? You will be lucky to get the next hundred years in jail."

"The trouble I have caused has led to several deaths, granted, but whereas each state used to possess an army, it would appear that you and your army possess a state. I've seen what you did in the Foyer, do you know how many people died?" he exploded.

The Overseer grinned even more. "And if you had given yourself up, none of this would have happened. Do you not see this is because of you and your father? You have caused the deaths, not me."

"I have done nothing wrong, you and your police state are the bane upon the earth and the entire reason why we are subjected to a life like rats, and a life like this is no life at all. It's a self-fulfilling prophesy, I am not an idiot, I know by causing the fear you seek to destroy you enslave people here, my father was just intelligent enough to escape. You are a sick, twisted man who is not even worthy of death, the scum of the earth stands before me and there is no want greater than mine for your death, yet the only good thing you ever did was raise Amata, and it is the only thing to save you." Arthur scorned with utter hatred and remonstrance.

The Overseer tutted with amused contempt. "Such anger Arthur. Where will such words get you?"

"Even the most civilised men can burn with the hatred passion for another. Give me the keys and I will be gone from here, you will not see me again, by god you can depend upon it, nothing in existence can make me want to return so long as you or I live." he demanded, scowling fiercely at the Overseer whilst forcing the gun into his chest.

"Oh is that all? Perhaps you would like me to locate the emergency exit for you too?" The Overseer retorted sarcastically.

"If you don't, then I will publish the permanent records of the vault to their respective residents. All the information you despicably gathered about them will be before their eyes before your team can reach me, and do you really think the populous will be pleased with that? Do you not think I will be vindicated for my actions? You may have the guns but they have the power, and if you must kill them to rule, then over what dominion will you rule but empty warrens?" Arthur positioned triumphantly.

The Overseer gave a hate filled look at Arthur, as he knew he was in check.

"Fine," he said throwing the key at Arthur, "Go, but when the wastes are more than you could ever imagine, then you will know the life I protected you from, and like an ungrateful child scolded for his actions you will return, but you will be no prodigal son to me."

"That's just as well then, for you were a father to no one." Arthur said as he picked up the key of the floor cautiously and walked out of the doorway.  
>To ensure the Overseer wouldn't escape he shot the control panel when the door had closed, not so much locking him in rather than keeping him temporarily captive. From within the room the Overseer sat down on the chair his daughter had sat in while he tortured her and, looking at Hannon's corpse, sighed heavily for all he had wanted to prevent had just come to fruition.<p>

After Arthur had left the room he walked down a corridor leading to the Overseers room, in as much an attempt to leave as to be away from the Overseer. He knelt down and reopened the bag and slid his pistol in and took a quick drink of water to steady his nerves before walking to the most likely escape route, the Overseers Office. As he walked to the office he could hear sobbing from one of the rooms adjacent. He followed the sound curiously, trying to work out who it came from. While still some distance away from the room, Arthur discovered that the melancholic sounds were from Amata, who he decided to comfort in any way possible.

He entered the room to find Amata on a chair, head in hands, and leaning against a table, covering herself as best she could from whatever emotion sought to attack her. Arthur slowly walked up to her and placed a gentle hand on her back. However she shrugged him off, to Arthurs surprise and upset, and instead of some emotional embrace, she waved her hand at Arthur, still not looking up to him. A profound sadness overcame Arthur as he wanted only to comfort the one he loved above all else.

Arthur stood over her for a few moments more; his eyes trained on her every movement, trying to find a way to help her. Once more though Amata waved her hand at Arthur, twice this time, more in an indicative manner, which caused Arthur to turn around. There on the floor was a body, clad in white lab coat. The body most likely had been dragged from another room and had been placed in a haste, which would explain why the limbs of the body were in a star shape, rather than respectfully laid out. Arthur walked over to the body, disbelieving his eyes, trying to deny what was in front of him. He knelt down to the body and gentle rolled it over so the face was facing the ceiling.

There in front of him, the man was revealed to be Jonas, one of his lifelong friends and few confidents. The man's eyes were closed but his face and head were heavily bruised, but notwithstanding the bruising and the damage, the man looked peaceful in death. Arthur, for the first time in years and despite all that had happened today, was overcome entirely with emotion at his friend's death. He fought back tears as he looked at his late friend, and an empty feeling replaced all others in his body.

Arthur squinted in an attempt to force the tears away, and his mouth opened as his breathing became erratic. Amata saw the distress that he was in and walked over to comfort and in a complete role reversal from a minute before, she now placed her hand comfortingly against his back as she knelt down beside him. She herself was becoming emotional as she looked at the body that Arthur refused to believe was his friend. Amata lay her head against his, trying to soothe his visible pain as several tears escaped from his eyes.

A few moments passed as the grieved for their friend, but instead of the silent vigil, Arthur rose to his feet, which Amata imitated, and he looked dispassionately at her.

"Can we leave now? I think I've had enough. Its time for me to go." He lamented.

Amata gave him a weary smile as she wiped away the tears that had accumulated in her face.

"Yeah, we can go." She said solemnly as she wiped away his tears with her cuff.

The pair walked in total silence to the Overseers office to find the escape exit that Amata knew about. The two were in deep silence even when they reach the office which was surrounded by screens showing various video feeds, including a replay of when Amata shot Mack. The video was on a loop from the second she pulled the trigger and ended when the body fell from the screen only to be reset again. Clearly the Overseer had been watching that particular tape and wondering what to do next. Fortunately Amata had not noticed the screen but Arthur had, so he, in consideration of Amata, switched off the monitor to avoid any undue distress.

Amata walked over to the Computer and began typing away at the keyboard as she searched for a line of code to open the hatch.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked.

"I'm searching for a line of code in the network. Command prompt is locked on this, for some reason, so I will have to open each programme with a backdoor entrance to find it."

Arthur, who after years of being blocked out by passwords and programmes had decided that computers were not his forte, looked on curiously.

"Have you found it?" he asked, trying to avoid disturbing her.

"Yes." She replied. Within a second of her reply the desk moved backwards and the floor parted slightly. Amata and Arthur jumped off the separating floor and watched in awe as the computer and floor revealed a small staircase directly below the Overseers chair.

"How did you know about this?" Arthur questioned.

"I had to study the schematics as part of my internship. I know everything there is to know about this place" she admitted.

Amata lead Arthur down the stairs to a sealed metal door with a small aperture for the key that Arthur in his pocket. He pulled the key out and inserted it into the hole and without touching anything, the door's seal hissed as gas escaped as the door parted slightly.

The two stood apprehensively, waiting for whatever was coming next. Arthur grew impatient and tentatively pushed the door open, to be confronted with another corridor which was narrow enough to restrict passage to one person line abreast, and pitch black, not lit by anything in over centuries. Amata turned on her Pipboy light as Arthur set off down the corridor, searching for a door in the dark, to which he was forced also to turn on his light.

Lit by their Pipboy's, the shadowy darkness revealed a door at the end of the corridor, opened by a small panel with a single switch labelled either "on" or "off". Amata pushed the switch from off to on and without sound the door slid upwards into the ceiling, disclosing a large room with a reactor positioned in the centre with arcs of electricity spurning from it. The room was a metallic charcoal colour, where the shadows accentuated every aspect of every dimension. The room also hummed slightly from the plethora of machines adhered to walls which continually monitored every aspect of the vault.

"These are the auxiliary drives." Amata let on, sensing Arthur's fascination with the room as he looked endlessly around, trying to make some understanding of the room.

"It's incredible that this exists yet is not a part of the mainframe. Surely the benefit to the vault would be greater to be used by the staff, not monitored by ghosts." Arthur suggested.

"That is because we aren't meant to use it." Amata stated.

"Why? Who else would this benefit if not us?" Arthur questioned.

"The recording devices are used to transmit data back to the Vault-Tec Headquarters to monitor the vault and its residents. The equipment is supposed to monitor until either the vault opens or everyone dies."

"That's a morbid thing to do, wouldn't you agree? There is no privacy here." Arthur said, slightly insulted that he had been monitored all of his life by machines that may or may not be manned by people at the other end.

"You don't know the worst of it." Amata sighed.

"To what do you mean?" Arthur asked, squinting slightly at such an ambiguous statement that could carry huge consequences.

"My father has, or rather had, been monitoring us." She disclosed.

Arthur sighed a little but didn't seem that shocked by the statement.

"I suspected as much. My father said that he had seen monitoring equipment around but I didn't really believe him to the extent that I should. I knew your father would have been prone to such authoritarian tactics, what is truly surprising, however, is that there was no action on his behalf sooner, in regards to us. Surely that would have outraged him. However, we clearly underestimated how powerful your father is, so it should come as no surprise."

Amata agreed with Arthur summary. It was strange how the Overseer never acted overtly, but it would explain the overtime he would always have her pull, which coincided with Arthur's time off.

Arthur wandered off towards some panelling, trying to work out what it recorded while Amata searched some more of the auxiliary room. A small doorway built into the wall lead to a large opening which in turn leads to a large trench like dip in the floor leading up to a massive metal cog which took up half of the wall. Amata stared in awe of the mechanical feat that it must have taken to engineer such a device. There was a roof mounted 'key' of sorts which she knew from schematics would open the door when prompted and a small bright yellow console which would set the whole thing in motion.

"Arthur!" Amata called.

There was a loud crash of metal where Arthur was standing, obscured from view to Amata so when Arthur came running in with face like a child had broken something, she had to inquire what he was doing.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." He said hastily.

"Did you break something?" she questioned.

"No." he said, trying to end this line of conversation. "What is you wanted?"

"There" she gestured with her hand.

Arthur stood silently as he looked at all the apparatus. From the massive cog to the giant key, there was not one thing about it that wasn't perfectly designed.

"How are we to open it?" he asked.

Amata walked over to the console and looked at Arthur. "By pressing this button"

Arthur walked over to her and placed his hand on the red button and paused for a moment.

"By means of this door there is a new life. However if I am honest with myself I am not yet ready to detach myself from the one I currently live. The reasoning of my reluctance to leave is despite everything that has happened here, in its entirety and with today included, I have not the heart to leave. It is not some material desire that keeps me restrained but rather one in the abstract that you cannot come with me. I do not know what is beyond those doors and I have no doubt my father is far beyond them by now, but I cannot bring myself to go after him and abandon you. I will not have it that you will follow me, I wouldn't put myself in this place if it were not borne of necessity, but I will do no justice to myself to allow the occasion to pass where I don't confess myself to you. My liberty to express myself to you has been limited, I know, by myself and while it would appear to an effect that I do not love you, the contrary could not be truer. I must leave you now, notwithstanding your fathers actions, for I believe a life here is better than one out there. Emotions have always been hard, but for the benefit of you, I must sacrifice what I hold dear. You must stay."

Amata stood with a disbelieving look on her face. Every word Arthur spoke angered her to her core and the emotions of her day would not let her bite her tongue and accept his position.

"Are you serious? After everything today, after all I've been through to help you escape and after all I've seen and done, you want to just leave me here?"

Arthur opened his mouth to make his point but Amata countered before he could speak.

"You want to leave me here with a man that killed Jonas? And a man's whose security team is perfectly at home murdering an innocent man such as Floyd? Does it not occur to you that I was always planning on going with you, and that everything that had happened today was in the knowledge that I love you enough to leave with you? You can stand there and tout your fancy words but you can't pretend that it's for the good of me when I'm trapped in a prison with him."

It occurred to Arthur that Amata was not aware of the slaughter on the foyer, but advised himself such emotional secrets must be delivered slowly.

"Amata, the circumstance which have placed me here I have had no control over. Your father will not allow any harm to come to you in the vault, I know despite the fact his parenting style leaves much to be desired. He can protect you, whereas I cannot. Past that door I cannot even guarantee there are provisions to allow me to breath. Here you have everything and will be in want of nothing. No caring man can see his girlfriend perish by want without feeling for them, and most particularly, he must feel for them when he knows that they have been brought into the world, which he himself does not want to be part of, in which this want was by his own act, on his own responsibility, not by the orders of someone who is superior. I cannot bear to live where I, by my own want, place you in danger. So yes, nothing is more misleading than affectionate opinion and I will not have it that you come with me." He argued, raising his voice slightly towards the end.

Amata stood with tears in her eyes, in sheer disbelief.

"Arthur, can you not hear yourself, it's not you who wants me to go outside, and it's me who wants to go with you. I cannot stand to stay here with a man who I call my own father who acts as a tyrant. Please, if there is ever one thing I need you to do for me, take me with you, don't leave me with him.

Arthur paused for a second; he couldn't bear to look Amata in the eye for fear of emotions.

"If you come with me, you cannot die. For if you do then I will never have lived; and no greater force will keep me from losing it all, for loss of you. I love you, but you must promise me that no harm can become of you, for it will do immeasurable damage to me, and I do not say these things for selfish reasons, but for they are true, and a life where you are no longer in mine but instead you are safe in here, is better than one where you were with me, but have perished to the landscape. I cannot bear the thought, but endure it I must if you are to come. Can you promise me that?"

Amata gave Arthur another weary look.

"Yes." She said smiling, trying to fight back another bout of tears.

Arthur smiled back at her with the same thin lipped smile she gave him as he pressed the button.

The duo looked at the giant key as the room flared to life. There were wailing sirens and flashing lights, in all it was a cacophony of blinding lights and deafening sounds in the grey tint of the room. The key they were looking at made a screeching noise as it descended from its resting place to its sole purpose, opening the door which had changed roles from keeping out to keeping in under the Overseers direction. The key pulled into the aperture and stopped for a brief moment. Then, as if hell itself was screaming in pain, the rancorous screeching of metal indicated that the metal cog was being pulled out of place.

The screeching had forced Arthur and Amata to cover their ears in a bid to save their hearing, but the penetrating sound hurt nonetheless.

As suddenly as it had started, the screeching stopped, to which Arthur and Amata looked on in fearful apprehensiveness. The door rolled sideways to the right, revealing a tunnel, dimly lit by lanterns, and a wooden door with rays of light shining through.

Amata grabbed Arthurs hand tight as the door finally settled in place, which Arthur held tight for his own protection. The two stood there, not really wanting to leave everything behind. However from behind those two guards came running out of one of the doorways, heading straight for them.

Arthur ran with Amata in his hand as he led her through the doorway, running over skeletons as they did. Arthur turned around to see where their pursuers were, only to see them standing in the doorway, looking extremely apprehensive about leaving the safety of the vault. One of the two turned to the other and said,

"I don't care what the Overseer said, I'm not going out there." And with that they withdrew back into the vault.

Arthur turned to Amata who gave a pleasantly shocked look to Arthur. However no such pleased emotion could be found when the sirens of the door started back up and the flashing lights lacerated from the doorway. The heaving metal rolled back into place with the sickening screeching and as the last inch of open door closed, there really was no going back.

Another few moments of silence ensued.

"Do you think we can make it outside, Arthur?" Amata asked, wondering how difficult life would be for them.

"I have nothing else planned for this evening" Arthur quipped, forcing Amata to giggle a little, but in reality they were both hiding their fears from each other. For neither of them knew the world that awaited them, and in a few remaining moments of guaranteed peace they were not to waste it by acting in such a way as to decrease their spirtits, for god knows what they were going to encounter outside.

Arthur looked around the cavern, paying particular attention to the skeletons on the floor, which Amata had also picked up upon.

"It must have been hell out here." She said, lamenting on the deaths of those so desperate to get into where they had just escaped from.

"Hell is empty, the devils are in there." Arthur said, referencing the vault.

Amata nodded slowly. "Come on. We have to leave" she asserted.

Arthur nodded in agreement and, each other in hand, they walked towards the door.

The door was made from decaying wood which allowed light to seep through and to Amata's touch, broke into small pieces.

"Do you want the honour or should I?" Amata asked.

"Oblige yourself." He replied graciously.

Amata grasped the rusty handle of the door and pulled it heavily towards herself as the centuries old hinges buckled and snapped, rather than opened. Suddenly there was a great influx of blinding light, which forced them to shield their faces as the blinding light assaulted their eyes. Slowly, as their eyes readjusted to the light, they could see what was left of the old world.


	6. City in the Rubble

The moments immediately after stepping through the door for the damned vault were so paradigm shifting that no experience of reality could have been more surreal. Arthur and Amata walked through the decaying wooden door and were viciously assaulted by every sensory input they could have ever conceived. The indescribable experiences that they themselves did not know existed, were now a part of their new world.

The sun beat down upon them, which, consequently, blinded their eyes after having spent their 19 year old lives in a slightly dark room, which was always lit to an exact light, and always switched off at an exact time, to simulate night. However this is only one of the effects upon them that the sun brought. Their skin, which had never sunlight before gave a cacophony of mixed signals as the sun warmed their hands and face, but the wind chilled their bodies, bringing their skin to react in a way in which they were not familiar, that is to say, their hairs on their skin rose, as if frightened by the whole situation. So strange this effect was upon them, considering that wind was nothing in a vault, no matter how much, in their minds, they tried to compare it to their lives, nothing came close.

Their new lives of experience were also met by sounds, or lack thereof. The world was quiet, eerily so; the vault never was quiet, there was also an accompanying sound, whether it be the sound of people talking or the sound of the ventilation system, there truly was never a quiet moment in the vault. The only sound to be heard was that of the inconsistent wind, roaring at their ears, terrifying them in the abstract, as nothing was familiar in the normal world. Amata remarked that nothing familiar in this world had presented itself to them, excluding Arthur which prompted her in the visually dazed state that she was in to grasp for his hand clumsily, which, when it did find its target, he graciously accepted, and in a terribly comforting way, he held her hand very tight, which had the effect of reassuring himself, as much as her.

As their tender eyes adjusted to the burning sun, as far as they could see, the desolate world stretched, in its crumbling entirety, before them. One's mind cannot comprehend the distances perceived when in the abstract of Arthur & Amata. A long distance was from one end of the seven hundred metre vault to the other; such was the ineffable distances they bore witness to that it chilled them to their core, as much as any experience in the vault could have. From their vantage point they could see for miles; a distance neither Arthur nor Amata could truly quantify in their naïve state.

Their eyes continually adjusted to such a state as to allow them to see in great detail, which was more of a curse then a blessing. So acute was the ingenuity of mankind, they witness, that they were in awe of the world the former civilisations had created, and terrified by the efficiency that they had ended it. In front of them lay the crumbling remains of Washington, District of Columbia. In the far distance stood the Washington monument, proud as ever, though spread at its foundations were the derelict remains of a once beautiful city, once clad in white marble, now donned in nuclear ash.

The pair stood in utter silence, peering through a jarring squint from the acrid sun, humbled and belittled by the world which they never knew. To say that neither of them regretted leaving would do no justice to truth. In the abstract no real thoughts passed, other than how bleak their prospects looked and how vehemently death must have swallowed the world for them to be stood at the capital of America and find no other words but destruction. The ground was torn with jutting rock faces scouring the landscape, like a scar of the lands past.

Amata walked towards a small overlook, which had a sign with the words "scenic overlook", which was correct. The scenic view was one of a horrifyingly tortured world, still clinging to its ancient civilisation through means of buildings so holed, light was visible through them from miles away, and the roads were so afflicted, they seemed to be reclaimed by what was left of nature, through means of weeds and dried grasses as they snaked endlessly as they carved through the rocks. All accompanied by the silent orchestra of wind and sand, gently blowing its way through the vast nothingness which stood between them and the grey city.

For Amata the silence grew unbearable, which forced her to say something, notwithstanding the breech of decorum she was so blatantly violating.

"This is awful." she observed.

"It is." Arthur replied as the two continued to peer through squinted faces at the horizon.

A few more moments passed as the gravity of the situation settled in and the world which they knew underground suddenly felt impalpable to them both. Their intangible former lives had put them in no stead for the formidability of the New World.

Arthur was once again staring into the abyss, a name Amata had given to the action when Arthur stared at nothing, in deep thought. In truth, he was scared, though he wouldn't admit it. He didn't know how to survive, he had only lived by himself for a year in the vault, and that was with his father in the room opposite. He began thinking about the necessities, such as the principle concerns of shelter and provisions.

Amata noticed this and she squeezed his hand to bring him back.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I think it would be good to find a place to sleep, while it is still light." He suggested.

Amata nodded in agreement and she began surveying the landscape for suitable areas while Arthur looked to his Pipboy which had just buzzed on his and Amata's arm. He selected the alert to be presented by an antiquated map of the local area, in no great detail, but of use enough for him to locate a nearby river, only several hundred metres away. Amata, who was still searching the horizon found an area of considerable interest.

"Arthur," she pointed "Look there".

Arthur followed her finger to the blacked remains of a small town down in the valley, which had suffered as much as everything else in the continent. Amata looked to her map, which she saw for the first time as did Arthur.

"Spring Vale." Arthur noted as he studied the small town. Within the town there was a small collection of houses, no more than six in total, accompanying which was a large and prominent water tower which dominated the immediate area. There was also a large building with several stories which presented itself as noteworthy. In all, considering the alternatives, Spring Vale looked promising, especially as a temporary shelter.

"Good eyes," Arthur complimented. "Do you think we should set up there?" he asked as they both turned to each other.

"Err, I'm not sure. Perhaps? Why is this my choice?"

"I trust you." Arthur replied. "If you think it is acceptable then we will go. I think it is a good location on my behalf."

"Okay then, there is a small house, on the edge, what do you think about that?" she asked.

"I think it's good. Shall we go now?" he prompted.

Amata nodded, smiling slightly as she did, which greatly comforted Arthur. He briefly found himself in the abstract abyss, appreciating Amata in every way. The way she so faithfully stayed with him, the way he always found comfort within her, no matter the action, and the way her in-suppressible happiness, even when invited into a world of death, continued through, undamaged and synonymously resolved, as she always was.

Arthur ripped himself from the world and bent down on one knee, removed the bag from his shoulders and proceeded to unzip it before rooting through its contents. This attracted Amata's attention from looking upon the world.

"What are you doing?" she inquired curiously.

"I'm looking for the water; its best that we drink now, and then some later, a little at a time." he said offering Amata the small plastic bottle.

Amata took the bottle from him and continued to look at him as he continued through his bag. She was apprehensive about the state of things, no doubt, but having the outwardly aloof but inwardly compassionate Arthur, the one she loved, with her placed her with a degree of confidence, stemming from the belief that he cared as much about her as she did him, which one would observe to be correct.  
>She took a small sip from her drink and passed it back to Arthur. He in turn took a small drink and placed the bottle in the bag after screwing the lid back on. He stood up to Amata who gave him a smile, which he returned, an action which he did not often reciprocate to any other; a slight bout of happiness in a world apparently void of any such emotion.<p>

"We should go." He said, offering out his hand for hers in a strange display of affection. Nonetheless she took his hand and the both began to descend down the rocky slopes towards the black town.

The slope down to the road directly underneath the 'scenic overlook' was quite steep, causing the pair to nearly lose their balance several times, but the descent, other than a few precarious moments, was uneventful. However, despite the horrific sight they had previously witness, laid before them was a far more graphic environment.  
>As the pair walked onto the road, they encountered several old, oxidising cars in which the paint had been dimmed by the intensity of the sun; Arthur noted that he could hear the sound of the rusted metal groan under the strain of itself.<p>

Arthur walked over to one of the cars and peered in, to find a skeleton still in the driver's seat, though, the skeletal remains were by now on the floor or arranged in no particular manner in the seat. Amata also found remains, not of people, but of their belongings in the form of suitcases and other assorted containers which had been hastily assembled when the War must have broken out; she did not have the bad taste to rummage through, for respect of the dead.

Arthur had walked several metres away as he was inspecting the cars out of sheer curiosity, remarking on the construction and design which dominated the decaying traffic. He walked over to a car door and attempted to open it, but when he pulled the handle the entire door fell off, narrowly avoiding hitting his feet. From a car opposite this caused Amata to jump in shock, fearing the hellish landscape they were in.

"What did you do?" She asked, still wearing her frowning surprised face.

"I just touched the door. It's decayed to a state of disintegration, I think they all have." He thought aloud.

"Okay, just try not to touch anything; I don't think these cars are stable." She warned.

"Stable?" he asked.

"These cars were powered by nuclear engines; as were most cars during the time the war broke out. I can't imagine how the reactor has lasted well this long without a service." She half joked, cracking a smile as she did as she looked at her mechanically hopeless boyfriend.

Arthur was embarrassed slightly that he was being outdone by a girl in matters of the, rather considered, manly profession of mechanics. Nonetheless, he heeded her warning and refrained from touching for fear of a second nuclear detonation sweeping the landscape.  
>As Arthur cautiously backed away from the rusted cars, Amata began looking around for the water tower, which would serve as a point indicator, which had now been obscured by the rock faces in the small valley they were in. Arthur saw Amata searching and he decided to climb up a slope to gain a better vantage point. He quickly proceeded up the small rock face and within moments he could see the tower, which he pointed to for Amata.<p>

Since their exit from the vault, the blinding light had subdued somewhat, but notwithstanding their exposure for roughly twenty minutes now, their eyes still pained from the light of the open world, and the shadows which would seem subtle to eyes normally adjusted were set in massive contrast in theirs, so when Amata looked for the water tower, the jet black shadow of the tower that pinned against the yellow dirt caught her attention first.

She proceeded around a slight bend in the road, to be confronted by the dilapidated settlement, crumbing in the sun. Arthur was a moment behind her as he came running from the top of the ridge that obscured his view.

The decayed estate was more akin to a rubbish tip than a residential area. Spread along the floor in utter disarray laid simple human amenities such as bright white mugs and pencils, which had somehow survived when nothing else in the town had. All around the town were reminders of the former occupants, such as the red flags on the post boxes outside of people's former residences.  
>The ground was no more than a collection of rubble strewn in a fifty metre radius, mixed with earth, which, when stepped on, cracked though standing on twigs.<p>

The pair stood, once again speechless of a much more personal side of the nuclear war. They examined the houses, the shattered glass and broken walls, the layout of the houses around the road and the cars still parked patiently outside their respective houses. The paint had long since decayed, but despite the black tint of the rotten wood, there was an air of the quaint life that once existed, and though not outwardly attractive; it provided a shelter from the world which neither Amata nor Arthur knew anything about, which would serve its purpose well, until other, more suitable arrangements, could be made.

Arthur looked to each building one by one, trying to analyse each of the buildings for factors which would influence its acceptability as a shelter. Such considerations were: the structural integrity of the building in question. The position on the road, he didn't want to afford any animals or people, not that he had met any, the opportunity for an ambush. After inspecting the houses from afar, one house caught his eye. It was secluded, though not isolated enough to render an escape from a disaster. It was sound enough to not entertain the risk of collapse, as so many did, and it had even managed to retain its front door and the majority of the windows.

"I propose that one." He stated as he pointed at the house for Amata to see, who had been marvelling at the destruction of the little town. She saw the small, two storied building, and thought that once it must have been a proud home, for a family who were just living their lives when they inadvertently became legitimate targets.

"It looks nice." She remarked. "Do you think we should go inside?"

"We ought to, considering how we were planning on finding somewhere, or would you rather sleep in the rusted nuclear device?" he jested sarcastically.

Amata frowned at his comment, realising it was daft of her to say. She wasn't necessarily annoyed, merely continuing on with a satire of a reaction. Arthur followed close behind her and when they had reached the door, Arthur pulled Amata from opening it.

"Don't," he insisted. "We cannot be sure there is nothing within." He said, giving her a rather serious look. "We should listen first." He suggested. With that, the pair stood in silence, listening to the wind once more, and the deathly quiet of the land.  
>"Let me go first." Arthur said as he reached out towards the handle of the door.<p>

He pulled the handle down, and with a slight push from his shoulder, the door creaked open. Inside the house was a dusty front room, with two settees and an old television set. The air darted with specks of dust as those small particles suspended in the air hit the shaft of light that had entered the room from the door way. In all, the room was incredibly dusty, so much so that when one put a foot to the ground, a small puff of smoke would rise in defiance of their sudden excitement after years of domicile sleeping. The room smelt strange, a mixture of dust and what can only be described as 'age'. In all, the modest house was not pleasant to behold, but it provided a roof and walls in which they could sleep.

"It's not very dignified." Complained Arthur, slightly abhorred by the state of the carpet.

"Would you rather sleep under the car?" Amata returned, causing Arthur to grin at the comment.

"If here is where you are, then here is where you will find me." He assured.

"Good, because here is where I will stay." She affirmed, smiling at the back and forth.

Amata walked into the room, looking at all the small features such as old books, magazines, plates and assorted paraphernalia that had been hastily dropped. The staircase to the1st floor was blocked off by rubble, which had accumulated over the years, preventing any ascent. Arthur began searching through his bag once again, in search of the water; the sun sapped water from them in such a violent fashion, that regular drinks were a necessity, lest the latent threat of dehydration take them both. He took a small drink from the bottle and placed it back in the bag, as he did so he realised the door was still open, highlighting the dust within the room. He decided to prevail upon an ambitious transaction to remove the worst of the dust, that is to say, he opened the windows and began using the curtains as fans to excite the air, and caused it to flow from the room to the outside.

Amata shielded her eyes as a whirlwind of dust and debris circulated the front room, and she decided that having all manner of dirt placed upon her was not an attractive prospect and instead retreated to the shelter kitchen. As Arthur continued with his war on dust, Amata began searching through the cupboards in search of food. She walked up the small overhanging cupboards and looked through, but finding no food, instead she found plates, dishes and assorted cooking pans. She looked around the room in frustration, trying to find some sort of food stuff that was in the house that would be safe to eat; desiccated potatoes, for example. However she had no luck, save for a jar of biscuits which had long since decayed into dust. By this time, Arthur had finished with his dust cleaning activities and was instead setting up an area for them to sleep for the night.  
>He wasn't using the settee but instead he removed the cushions from it and laid them upon the floor in a bed style, with two pillows either side to act as seats. The room, while still dusty, was tolerable and with time it would become something more akin to a home, perhaps. Amata walked up to Arthur, who was on the floor looking through his bag on the floor, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He briefly looked up at her then looked back to the bag, still crouched down in search.<p>

"Take a seat," he insisted. "I am just looking for any food that we can have. It's getting late and I never was one to make arrangements when they are due; before is always a better principle." He said as he brought from the bag a small box of white rice and a curry sauce to cook with it.

"Hideous stuff," he commented, "I never was one for this. No matter, we should eat the worst of it now, that way we can starve on the finest of food." He joked without any of the indications of the insincerity which he meant.

Amata didn't take the joke too well, considering the gravity of the situation and the possibility of the scenario of what he just described. She pushed with her hand on his shoulder gently before walking to her new seat, across from Arthur.

"Don't joke about that." She protested seriously.

"I'm sorry, it was not my intention to annoy you. I just don't know what we are to do." He apologised

His statement silenced the conversation between them as they silently ate their food. The sun was setting outside which caused a bright orange hue to cover the room from the door which had been left open. Such colours of light didn't exist inside the vault, stranger still was to see the day end by a bright light, which was not a light bulb, slowly dim and cast a shade of colour they were not accustomed to. The dying sun left the pair in thought. Amata's apprehensions of their next movement were justified; Arthur had told her nothing of his plans so far, that is to say if he even had them.

A few minutes of silence covered the room as wholly as the bright light did, leaving the pair to their thoughts.

"What are we going to do now?" Amata asked.

"We are to find my father." He replied as the pair still looked at the dying sun.

Amata turned to Arthur few moments later and gave him a most serious look.

"Arthur, that won't do. Where are we going to find him, how are we going to find him, where could he have gone, have you not seen the state of the world now? It's dead. Why would he come out here when there is nothing?"

"Amata, you couldn't be more wrong," he said as he turned to her and gave an intense look. "We have been outside for but three hours, and within this time we have seen more than anyone in the vault will see within a lifetime. Do you believe that we have seen what this world has to offer in three hours? We have moved but three hundred metres from the Vault, and we can see but five hundred from hence. If you believe that the world is dead then what hope do we have? I need you to trust me, utterly and unquestioningly for I will commit to nothing that is not in our interests or safety. If you ask 'where is my father', I ask you, where are you? We have left an impenetrable vault, and nothing has been more serious than our consequences; but I believe that the consequences were to prevent us from exploring as we ought. Equally I do not believe that this world is devoid of life. Humans are far too persistent to be killed off entirely. I know not where my father this, or where to look for him, but I know that he left for a reason, nobody willingly walks into hell without indescribable reason, and so too is the reason I am here, to find what is lost to me.

Amata could see the passion of the day within his eyes. Every word he spoke he looked not at Amata, but rather through her; his blue eyes staring at her in a way which she had never seen before. He seemed angry but at the same time determined. The emotions he was emitting he never did. He was always quiet, reserved and hardly ever showed any extreme emotion, but here he was, surrounded with an orchestra of emotions, creating an unreal presentation of him. Amata looked at him sympathetically, understanding that he was having a hard time of it, more so having a hard time expressing himself.  
>Arthur took a moment to steady himself, for fear of upsetting Amata. He knew what he said was impassioned but he had to show her how he felt, and normal words wouldn't suffice.<p>

"I saw a sign, on the road into here. It had the words 'Megaton' written upon it. The word was created with different fonts, sizes and colours of letters, leading me to believe that it has been set up recently. I believe there is a settlement near to here, which, being closet to the Vault would be the obvious location for my father, and therefore us, to go. However this is not based on fact, but we should ascertain the truth about this settlement by going to it tomorrow. Past that, I have no plans." He admitted.

"It's something." Amata contented, giving him a warm smile. Arthur smiled back at her before looking down to the food that he still had on the floor in its packets. The rice was in a cooked form and the sauce was too, but the food was going to be cold nonetheless, and half the taste of food is heat. Arthur looked on mortified as he opened the packets up and divided them between Amata and himself. Amata giggled as she saw the disgusted face of Arthur, which prompted her remark.

"We're lucky to have food, you know?"

"Luck? What's that got to do with anything?" Arthur retorted as he passed the food to her on a slightly dirty plate and a slightly rusty fork. She accepted the food and gave it a brief look before swallowing it without trying to taste it. Arthur did the same as he grimaced at the greasy food he was eating.

After they had finished eating the two sat opposite each other and began talking the day through, discussing the exploits and horrors they had witnessed in the vault, with Arthur not telling Amata about the massacre in the foyer. They talked for hours on every topic that they thought appropriate, from their new experiences with sunlight, to their fears of open spaces, to whether the war that scorched the ear was preventable or an evolution in human politics.

"Do you think seeds will grow in the ground again, I mean plants such as wheat, beans and fruits and such?" Amata wondered.

"If there is anything I know positively nothing about, it is agriculture." Remarked Arthur, which caused a fit of giggles from Amata. Arthur sat there patiently waiting for the unapparent hilarity to dissolve.

"May I ask what that was about?" he demanded, slightly worried for her response.

"It's just you." She said as she tried hiding more laughs.

"What about me?" he demanded.

"It's the way you say things, it makes me laugh. You always say things so seriously and in ways which you wouldn't think to say normally." She said as another, smaller, attack of laughter began.

"Generally speaking, long words are the best and old words best of all. We aspire to live life with excesses, and why should words be any different. Indeed, I carry a degree of gravitas saying what you might, slightly differently, with less effect. Why limit yourself?" he defended.

"I know, I know," she said wiping away tears of laughter. "It's very charming," she said as she leant over to kiss Arthur. Their lips briefly met, Arthurs reluctantly, albeit, and Amata settled down, but not after a few more giggles and whispers of "agriculture" in sheer amusement.

"We should be getting to bed." Arthur suggested, as he looked out through the still open door and into the black world beyond. Amata noted the outside too and agreed before standing up and rearranging the cushions to make a bed as Arthur stood up and closed the door, barricading it as he did to stop any creature or humans wantonly killing them during the night. After Amata had made the makeshift bed she took the dirty plates into the kitchen and placed them on the side counter, making sure to check that the door in the kitchen was locked too.  
>After all the final checks were completed Arthur lay down on the bedding and switched on his light for Amata. She also laydown on the bedding and shuffled close up to Arthur. The room was black, aside from Arthurs light, and the walls dirty and damp, but there was something reassuring about the dilapidated house, something comforting about finding a home when you had been forcibly evicted from another.<p>

Amata lay on her side, looking towards Arthur and began thinking about the day privately. Her thoughts ran back to the moment she had shot Officer Mack, and when Floyd had been shot in front of her. These were memories she wished to escape from, memories she wished never happened. She could feel herself getting physically upset by the events and looked to Arthur for comfort, who was lay on his back, looking straight up at the ceiling, in his world of thought once more.

"How did it come to this?" she questioned.

"It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose." Arthur replied quietly.

Amata wasn't especially comforted by the remark, but it did ring true. She knew they didn't deserve what had happened that day, she knew she wasn't a killer, but she had killed, and the actions she was forced to commit for herself and Arthur were beyond horrific. She was now a murderer through circumstance.

"It's my opinion that thinking never was good for anybody." Arthur said suddenly. "I advise you to avoid such endeavours. Thought is nothing but bad memory, more often than not. Do not embark upon a sinking ship, go to sleep and forget. Goodnight." He said as he rolled over onto his side, facing away from Amata.

Amata thought about his words for a second, but within a minute she was fighting an unwinnable battle against sleep as the darkness enveloped her eyes, she fell asleep.

She awoke in an uncomfortable bed, in a damp room, in a dark world. She wasn't sure what had awoken her, but it could be due to the fact that Arthur was not next to her; he wasn't even in the room.  
>Amata could see that the door was slightly ajar, probably where Arthur had left the building, 'but why would he have left?' Amata wondered.<p>

She rose from the warm bed and stood in the darkened room, with the dust in the air catching on the light from the door, illuminating like little meteors in the damp room. There was a slight breeze from the door, raising Amata's skin when it touched her. Amata couldn't stand in the house anymore and wonder where Arthur had gone. There was something slightly strange that he had just left here there.

She took a few steps towards the door but slowed to a creeping pace a few feet away; she didn't know why, perhaps out of fear, regardless, her recitation gave her times to listen, but there was nothing to hear. The word was deadly quiet, and no sound of Arthur. A strange anxious feeling overcame Amata, feeling like loss, or a strange fear of being alone. She hesitantly opened the door, slowly and carefully, trying to avoid creaking the rusted doors.

A few metres away, stood straight, with his arms crossed and head facing forward was Arthur. He didn't make a sound, nor did he move, but he just stood upright, silent and staunch, like a vigil. Amata walked towards him before standing to his right. Together, for roughly a minute they both stood in silence, looking at the horizon as the sun rose fully from the city beyond.

"Why are you here?" Amata finally asked.

"I never could bear to lie awake in bed," He replied. "There are better uses of time" as he continued to look at the city.

Arthur suddenly turned his head and looked intently in a certain direction, causing great intrigue within Amata.

"What is it?" She questioned.

Arthur silenced her with a brisk hush and looked back to the same direction. Amata stood confused next to him, trying to listen into the silent distance, trying to make anything out from the howls of the wind.

"There; can you hear it?" Arthur said silently, frowning intently at the direction of nothing.

Amata listened again to the wind. Very faintly, almost inaudible, but just about detectable, was a musical sound, coming from down the road. As the sound grew closer Arthur began to look around the street, searching for whatever was making the sound.

They continued to listen to the echoes as they grew louder, more distinguishable, and from the inaudible, came words, then a tune, with a fife and drums. The sound grew closer and closer, revealing more and more about its composure. The sounds grew closer still, but now it was distinguishable, now it was clearly music, more so it was patriotic songs from sever centuries ago; the marching tune of the American revolutionaries to be precise.

"We should move." Arthur indicated as he grabbed Amata's hand and pulled her into a half collapsed building.  
>They both hid themselves behind a pile of rubble in a front room with no front wall as they peered down the street, watching for what was coming.<p>

From the haze of the early morning came a small, round but blurred ball. No features could be made from it, excepting that there were wire appendages protruding from the object. It hovered, about a metre and a half from the ground and kept at a constant height, never really moving up or down, it didn't even appear to be moving forward it stayed so still. The sound progressed as the ball did and when the ball was thirty metres away, it was clear to both of them that it was a machine.

The machine had a large gauze screen covering its face, which Arthur presumed it was either a sight feed or a feed for making sound, but it gave the flying ball the appearance of an eye, rather insidiously searching the wastes for someone or something, to which end Arthur was keen to avoid any interaction with it.  
>The machine continued down the main road and Arthur and Amata still lay in the destroyed house watching its movements keenly and with a degree of anxiety to its next movement. The street was filled by the music from the machine as the drums beat with the fife, there was something very odd about this occurrence.<p>

Suddenly, causing great concern in Arthur, the machine stopped four metres away from their position and the music ended. The eye flew perfectly still as it hovered above the ground. Amata was watching the machine with near terror; they had not encountered anything like this before and especially something that flies and plays a variant of classical music, it is incredibly perturbing to say the least.

"What is it doing?" Amata whispered.

Arthur looked at her with a very grave face on, saying without words that she should remain silent.

Suddenly the eye made a very loud static noise before briefly stopping, and then came a voice, a very slow, very deliberate voice, which was not impromptu but more of an art. The voice was powerful but also calming. Arthur instantly recognised it as propaganda, there was chance that a radio host would start speaking by saying "Good morning America…" There was something about the voice that shouted authority and power, more so than any radio station would dare to envisage, he thought to himself.

"Good morning America, its me, your president, John Henry Eden." The machine announced.  
>With those words the machine flew forward, slower this time as it announced the man to the world, spreading whatever it had to say to the people that neither Arthur nor Amata had seen.<br>When the machine had flown a good distance away Arthur lifted himself from the rubble slowly as he continued to follow the distant machine cautiously. Amata pulled herself up alongside Arthur and began squinting after the machine.  
>A good while passed before either of them spoke, neither of them knew why but it put them at ease knowing the machine was out of sight as it flew into the morning haze.<p>

"What was that?" Amata asked, somewhat dumbfounded by the occurrence.

"It stands to me to be some sort of propaganda machine. That voice was clearly recorded, the one who voiced it could very well be dead, and I do not put it past the former government to invest in flying radios to spout their "news". He said somewhat acridly. "I'm sure your father would have found those indispensable." He stated, causing Amata to recoil slightly.

"Arthur!" she protested "That's my father!"

Arthur quickly realised he had overstepped himself and began the tactical retreat to her favour.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from," he honestly admitted. "It's just strange how similar the words are, in such a respect of course."

Amata didn't respond but silently scowled at the floor, resenting Arthur's candid comment, but knowing it was correct enough not to object to, other than on ground of family propriety.

"I am sorry, honestly I am, it was uncalled for, and I'm sorry for leaving the room without telling you, I just wanted a moment to myself. If we can put this behind us I have some information that is invaluable." He said, gently grasping Amata's shoulders and turning her to him. She looked up, clearly still in a strop, but somewhat more receptive of him.

"What then…" she said, huffing slightly for effect.

"Vis-à-vis 'Megaton'," he said as he looked out to the landscape and pointed at a massive grey, rust coloured morass of twisted metal and perforated sheets; the light poured through the holes in somewhat of a prophetic way, completely discordant with its destroyed surroundings.

"Judging by the quality of build, it follows that a building of such disreputable quality could not survive but a month without proper maintenance, and therefore the inference is that, unlikely as it seems, it would appear to be occupied." He said looking back to Amata, with a very serious face.

Amata looked at the building and wondered how it had managed to survive, and like Arthur, the only conclusion was that it was under very strict and tender maintenance, which in itself cannot be conducted without manpower or resources, the former of which they had seen none of and the latter having been seen in great quantity, but in great want of quality.

Amata looked to Arthur who had a look of curiosity on his face as he stared at the morass of metal, accentuated with a slight smile, more of a grin but almost not there, undetectable to those that did not know him, but Amata could see it, if slightly.

"What?" Amata questioned. "You want to go there?"

Arthur continued to look at the object with a distant face, lips slightly parted as he scanned the horizon, looking from left to right, eyes carefully looking at the ground. He looked around to his rear, but as he passed the face of Amata he simply gave a "hmm mhh," as if he were concentrating on the landscape, with a look that can only be described as distant yet aware of Amata, in a strangely charming sort of way.

"Over all that ground?" she asked, acutely aware that while it was far in the distance, it was close enough to reach by half an hours walk, the complications arose by their lack of knowledge of the terrain and the environment.

Arthur was still looking behind him and slowly began moving his head back towards her. He briefly looked at her, with a vaguely distant face, as if he were concentrating on something. A small, thin lipped smile came from his face as he squinted at her and gave another, simple Mhh Hmm before scanning the fore ground once again.

"What? Why are you so happy?" Amata questioned.

"Because there is progress, and whatever progresses us, indulge it. I suspect that progress is something of a rarity here, so when it comes along, indulge it, for there is not much else."

Amata quietly listened to his words, thinking of how true it was. The world was never as ambiguous as this, nothing ever so unclear and as frightfully vague as what they had been thrown into. While it did not show them where Arthur's father was, perhaps, presuming by the maintenance that someone was repairing the attrition, there was someone who knew where to look, or in the least, somewhere to stay for the night, until new developments show themselves.

Arthur suddenly broke Amata's thought.  
>"We should leave for there now, I do not wish to be immobile for long; I'm still not comfortable with the open world like this. It makes me feel… insignificant." He thought out loud.<p>

Amata grasped Arthurs hand by his side and held it tightly. She herself was scared of what they didn't know, and the realisation that the open ground looked extremely vulnerable and did much to increase her apprehensions. Without saying anything more Arthur walked forwards, down the road towards the grey sculpture, pulling Amata's hand to follow him.

The walk to the metal mass was quite a long one, which consisted principally of walking along winding roads and avoiding the rusted remains of cars, which regularly spilled out toxic fumes. There was no sign of life still and only the sounds of the wind accompanied them. The monotonous brown dirt never gave way to any form of greenery, only occasionally pigmented with red rusted metal. Brown red was a colour Arthur was beginning to associate the new world with.

Approximately two thirds of the way through their walk the road suddenly disappeared, and the broken road surface gave way to rough terrain, interspersed with small shrubs and bushes that did little but aggravate the pair as the weeds grabbed indiscriminately against any part of their bodies.

"Hard going" Arthur said as he heard Amata breathing behind her as she struggled to climb yet another small hill. He stopped to watch as she struggled up the hill, clearly looking exhausted and a feeling of pity overcame him, a realisation that he had ruined her life, by his own want, supported by hers, but he was the cause, and he could only hold himself accountable.

He walked down the hill to her and supported her back and together, with a tired Amata, they climbed one last hill. Arthur could tell that Amata was dehydrated. He hadn't seen her drink within the day and although the walk from where they were had been hard, it should not have taken it out of her the way it did.

Arthur helped Amata to the ground and began rooting through his back for the bottles of water.  
>"Here," he said passing the bottle to her. "Sip it, don't drink it. Little and often." He smiled wearily. "You should keep on top of these things, it's not the same as in the vault, in this world we take care of ourselves." He lectured as he furrowed his brow at her distress.<p>

Amata rolled her eyes at his talking as she sipped from the bottle. The water was lukewarm but it was refreshing in the dry day's heat.

"How much further?" she asked as her face grimaced from the stitch the water had given her.

Arthur looked at the direction in which they were traveling and paused for a moment. Not much more than a League now. The time is currently 14:00 hours so we should get there by 16:00, or just before, if we keep to a good pace." He guessed as he looked at his Pipboy for conformation. "Once we climb down from here we shall be upon a plain, where good progress should be easily found, and then a slight rise to the structure and we are there." He said, offering his hand out to Amata, who looked at him disheartened.

"Is that all?" she asked sarcastically.

Arthur smiled at her as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "That is all." He replied as he bagged Amata's drink and slung his bag over his shoulder.

The remainder of the walk was uneventful, aside from the unusual sound of metal jangling, but out of sight, but nonetheless it did much to arouse Arthur's curiosity. When they were upon the flats Arthur remarked at the topography, looking in visceral detail at the position of the hills, which created a confined area upon the lowlands, which, he presumed, would be well suited for a defensible position, as he tended to dabble in the military arts, as a part time hobby, of course. However Amata fared poorly and found no comfort from the surroundings, and she quickly discovered that she was not as physically fit as she had once guessed. The day's heat warped at her skin as the dry air assaulted vigorously all semblance of moisture from her mouth. Arthur often passed her water to drink and insisted that little of it be used, much to the disdain of Amata, who saw no qualms with taking a substantial drink, lest her mouth seize from desiccation.

The ground was hard, composed mainly of shattered weathered rock, with the occasional tuff of dried grass. The soil of the land was crumbly underfoot, and amongst the grasses were hazardous pieces of metal, waiting to slice at their feet. The ground often had small fissures and cracks, which ran indiscriminately across the landscape, and as the dusty ground was blown away by the dry wind, the air took on a dirty look as it bleached the air yellow. The ground was frequently spotted with rocky outcrops which had somehow seemed to have weathered the nuclear storm, or came after the holocaust. It was difficult for the pair to imagine the landscape ante-war. How the grass must have been green and so ubiquitous that it painted the landscape a vibrant, healthy green. How the houses connected with the roads in such an organised and thought out fashion. All that was left now was the decaying chaos of the war; no coherent semblance of the organisation or the charm that once must have dominated the landscape, save for the occasional, collapsing, home, still adorned with the paraphernalia of American suburban life. There was something poignant about how the post boxes lasted longer than the house, Arthur thought.  
>All around them were the charred remains of trees that did not sway with the wind, but instead stood ridged, like the post boxes before them, there was now life to be found among the trees or foliage. The entire world lacked life, and despite the tantalising evidence for humans, they had neither seen nor heard of any animal of any sort. The world was a strange blend of urban decay and dead wood; how anything could have survived was beyond their imagining, but the question of "Why would they survive?" frequented both of their minds.<p>

When the pair had closed the distance to within four hundred metres, approximately three hundred metres from when the incline of the hill started, Arthur stopped and sat down, with his legs crossed and began analysing the structure. Amata stood rather awkwardly behind him, waiting for Arthur to either say or do something; but nothing came. He merely sat without word upon the floor and looked at the structure, his eyes scanning every detail he could see.  
>After several minutes of this act Amata grew increasingly bored and curious of what Arthur was doing without so much as an indication.<br>"What are you looking for?" she asked softly, trying to avoid breaking Arthur's keen search.

"I'm looking to see any activity," he replied slowly, un-breaking in his attention to the structure.

"What activity?" she asked growing interested in his activity as she herself began looking at the structure.  
>"Any activity," he said. "I would be very obliged for any assistance rendered." He encouraged.<p>

To this affect, Amata sat beside Arthur and began searching for anything of interest.  
>A minute or so passed before Arthur spoke again.<p>

"I have sighted a man, on the balcony above the severed wings. In all probability he is a sharpshooter, on his piquet. I don't suspect he will shoot us though; the tracks leading from the gate look to frequently used, perhaps trading paths, not a war path. Besides, it does not follow, that a warlike people, having accrued many enemies over time, would station but one man for the immediate defence of their realm. I think he is a lookout, a man to keep an eye on peaceful motives, otherwise why so obvious and so unprotected? It simply does not follow." Arthur spoke quietly, informing Amata on his thoughts.

"What does that mean?" she asked. "I know it means at least people have survived, but what do we do now?" she furthered, giving Arthur a concerned look, as if she didn't know how the situation would pan out.

"Why, we talk to them, of course." He assured as he rose to his feet and, briefly waiting for Amata to accompany him, set off towards the piquet.

Amata followed Arthur closely, keeping a careful eye on the sharpshooter in the piquet, who by now had spotted them and was attentively following their walk towards the gate. As they approached closer still Amata spotted a strange figure, in roughly the shape on an egg with short, articulated arms. She immediately recognised it as a robot, a Robco. Industries model, a four hundred dash D, to be exact. Her studies into the machinery of the vault as Deputy Overseer had led her to develop a great depth and understanding of the machines that once used to help govern the nation before the Nuclear War.  
>Arthur, however, was inept at such matters and continued regardless, fighting a war of eyes with the marksman. Arthur felt exposed in the open ground before the piquet. At a short distance from the robot, and with the gaze of the marksman still bearing down upon them, Arthur stood still and vertical, almost without an arch in his back. He stood as he silently looked about him, with an air of impunity, still with the marksman bearing upon them.<br>Amata was stood a couple of metres from the rear from Arthur, silently watching him for his movements. She hadn't a clue what he was doing, but then again, she suspected he knew nothing either. The three people and the robot stood in silence, each one waiting for the others move.

Amata couldn't take the tense situation anymore. "Model four hundred D, run programme, zero zero naught. " Amata finally blurted out.

"Running programme… zero zero naught." The robot complied. "Welcome to… Megaton." The machine grated out. "Friendliest town…around." It assured.

With that the main gate began to screech in a most violent and horrendous manner. The morass of twisted metal parted to reveal a kind of foyer, forged from the hell of the wastes, and looking in a similar fashion.

Arthur looked up once more to the marksman and gave a brief nod of the head, which the marksman duly returned. Arthur then took a few steps forward, before spinning on his heel to face Amata who still had not moved. He had a slight grin on his face and he gestured with his arm out wide for Amata to accompany him, which she did, rather gratefully.

Without looking directly at him she whispered, "What was that all about?"

"I don't know, but it seemed to have worked, whatever it was." He said, still with his grin as Amata walked past him.

In front of them was a large metal door, composed out of sheet metal and destroyed iron girders for supports. Arthur arrived at the door and, without hesitation, pulled the door towards him. The door was surprisingly light to move, considering the rust that had accumulated all over the panels and once he had swung the door out, they were confronted by a proto-metropolis.

The settlement was massive, any guess Arthur or Amata would have made on the amount of people living there would not have totalled to even half of the actual amount. The settlement was an amphitheatre shaped, in a wide, roughly oval shape with levels upon levels of buildings, all crudely made, stacked upon each other. There was a plethora of walkways and stairs, all interconnecting the different parts of the settlement, like veins around the body.  
>On the ground floor was an opening, several metres across; again, vaguely amphitheatre shaped which seemed to serve as a meeting ground of sorts for the residents of the town.<br>In all there was just short of seventy people all living within the confines of the metal arena, which by its own merit is not great amount, but after the bleak nothingness of the wasteland, this was a true oasis.  
>There were large metal pipes, often spewing water, all over the place, thrown anywhere where there was space. No space was too small and apparently planning permission was not a consideration in the construction of the public services as the pipes often ran alongside the houses in an entirely ad hoc fashion.<p>

Amata and Arthur both met the scene with similar emotions, though varying wildly in some aspects, as their characters reflected.  
>Arthur, on the one hand, admired the people for their tenacity, for their sheer will to live and survive. He was immensely impressed with the apparently organised society they had established together, and there was a feeling of calm, somewhat. However, despite the drive of the people, he was less than impressed with the dirty, rusted amphitheatre which surrounded the squalid houses. He felt like the place was dirty, somehow; as if the rust itself was a disease. The air was a slight yellow, which he dare not think where that pigment came from. The place smelt in general, it smelt of sweat, of dirt and of a smell that he had never before experienced. Notwithstanding the latter feelings, he was impressed with the ingenuity of it all, and thought that there must have been compromises, even at the expense of taste and health, he thought.<p>

Amata, conversely, was in awe of the stadium like settlement. She was mechanically minded, unlike Arthur, and was amazed by the structural engineering that had gone into making each one of the houses; how delicately they balanced upon wire like frames, how they swayed slightly with movement. The public plumbing, though crude, impressed her greatly. She found the settlement possessed a certain charm, as if it somehow harked back to the days before the War; this tiny settlement, a relic of the world past, made anew, quite literally from the ashes of the old world; a phoenix, as it were.

From a gantry above them came the clunking sound of boots against loose metal. The entire walkway shook slightly as someone walked down. The perforations in the metal revealed a black leather duster which was tainted with a mass of dirt which covered the entirety of the coat, but most comprehensively at the bottom. The duster moved into such a position where it was possible to see the owner; a large, powerful looking man, with dark skin and a rough beard to match. The man would have been intimidating, was it not for the smile he seemed to be wearing upon his face.

He turned to meet them, with a smile on his face that was oddly welcoming, nothing like the aloof impression Arthur was expecting, considering their circumstances. He seemed excited in some way to see them, almost as if he was anticipating their arrival. The way he was walking showed that he meant to converse with them, and a gold badge denoted he was in some position of power. With this knowledge in his mind, Arthur strode forward to meet him in the middle ground.

"Well I'll be damned," he said as he started to chuckle. "You're from that Vault 101." He assumed.

Arthur smiled politely at the man, he thought it was unusual how he would know such a thing, and then it occurred to him that there was an embroidered '101' on his jumpsuit.  
>"That we are, and to whom, may I ask, are you?" he asked confidently.<p>

The man chuckled once more, oozing self-confidence as he did. "Names Lucas Simms, Town Sheriff, and Mayor too, when the need arises." He asserted, smiling as he did.

"Mr Simms, how do you do." he said bowing his head a little to acknowledge his position, "I am Arthur Wellesley, and this is Miss Amata Almodovar," he said as he indicated to Amata, who took a pace forward and bowed her head slightly.

The sheriff gave out a throaty 'hmm' and once more smiled. "Mr Simms, I like it, I don't know why but I like you boy… Mr Wellesley, and you too, Miss Almodovar."

Arthur could tell that his first impression had been a good one. Simms didn't seem much the type to address people by Mr or Miss, but the interaction had placed in him good stead. He had planned on raising the register to allow him to be presented in a far more positive light. He thought that to be associated with such a manner would do nothing bad, and would prove most advantageous, should he be in a position in which character was relevant, that is to say, raise the bar and people will rise to the challenge.

"Mistrust first impressions, Mr Simms; they are almost always misleading." He smiled back as he reached out and firmly shook him by the hand.

Amata walked forwards, and copying Arthurs idea, graciously shook Lucas' hand.

Simms once more chuckled. "Well somethin' tells me you're alright, so welcome to Megaton, just holler if you need something." He offered generously.

"That is most kind of you Mr Simms, I am grateful of such hospitality. In light of such offers, I would be most obliged if you could answer some questions regarding my father. He recently went missing and it would place me in a great debt to you if you could spare me any information" Arthur asked, giving Simms a grave look.

Lucas paused for a moment as he eyes darted in thought. "Nope, sorry; I have enough fires around here to put out in this place that I don't have time to keep tabs on every visitor. I would ask around town." He admitted.

"None the less, thank you for your generosity; you have not misplaced your good will, I assure you." Arthur parted, and with that, Simms walked away from them, down the slopes which surrounded the walls.

Amata walked up to Arthur and placed her hand in his, notwithstanding Arthur having not moved since the conversation began.

"I'm sorry..." She offered.

"For what?" he questioned, still not looking at her, but rather still looking at the town with his face in his usual sort of plain, slightly frowning look that made him look in thought.

"…For Simms not knowing." She said as she squeezed his hand gently.

"I would have been a fool to expect a result so quickly, as I said, I expect progress to be slow." He said as he turned to her and gave her a soft smile.

Amata smiled back at him, he had handled the situation well, Simms was even referring to both of them as 'Miss' or 'Mr', which was an impressive feat, considering the high position he held. However Amata knew that nothing had been accomplished for their efforts and no amount of respectful conversation would bring them closer to James. But that's a maybe, until such time they needed to find someone who could help them, but even before that, they needed to know the town to some degree.

"We should have a look around." Amata suggested.

"I agree, good thinking. Where to start is another matter entirely." He put forth as he looked again around the town. He spotted a small building, high above them, opposite themselves, which proved a particularly attractive spot for people to go.  
>"Up there, it seems to be a good social point, and therefore it should help us."<p>

Amata looked up and squinted to see several people either standing directly in front of the building or walking into it.

"That's a good idea. How do we get there?" she asked.

"There seems to be a central plaza, just behind that… shack of some sort. From there I suspect that ladders or gantries are the preferred way of movement between the floors." He suggested.

Amata nodded and with Arthur in hand, she walked down the steep slope and towards the plaza. On the way down the pair noticed a strange, red animal. Both Arthur and Amata had seen animals in books at the Vault school, but this animal was unique. It was red, vibrantly so, and possessed two heads that seemed to fight for control in a strange passive sort of way. It was incredible for them both to see how radically the Nuclear War had changed not only the landscape, but also the ecosystems which were otherwise insurmountable, and for a creature to develop two heads, quite unnaturally, was a disturbing site indeed.

They arrived at the central area to be confronted by a sight so bizarre it made them both question the world which they now found themselves in, not through questions of morality, but of sanity. In the middle of the plaza, which they had discovered was not a plaza at all, but an impact site of a nuclear bomb, which had a man prophetically crying out who was standing in a puddle of almost black water.  
>"Power be to Atom!" he preached as he looked around hysterically at the onlookers as he tried to convert them all. The mad man clearly had some form of radiation poisoning, shown by his pale white skin, which was tinged with yellow. His hair had all but fallen out and his rotted teeth bore at the onlookers who waved him off.<p>

"Do you think he knows that those activities will bring him death, if not by the bomb then by the radiation?" Arthur asked, slightly put back by what he was witnessing as he gave the scene a disgusted look.

"Do you even think he knows it's a bomb?" Amata asked, giving Arthur an incredulous look.

"Perhaps this is one such occasion where conjecture is meaningless, and a more direct approach would be better?" Arthur hinted, giving Amata a sly look.

She huffed slightly, "fine, I will speak to him, but if he throws anything at me…" she warned.

"Then we shall get Mr Simms, I'm sure he has had many dealings with such men." He comforted.

Amata walked over to the man and from where Arthur was standing, the man received her most intensely, with wild, frantic hand motions. Amata never made more than a sentence of speech, but the man wildly flung his arms around and Arthur could hear the occasional word being shouted. After several minutes Amata returned to Arthur with a most amused face.

"He doesn't even know it's a nuclear bomb. He thinks it's a relic, from a deity, Atom, to be precise" she said, trying to stop herself from laughing. "The worrying thing is; I'm pretty sure that the bomb is still active. It shows no signs of being professionally disarmed and there is definitely still a radiation source within; my Pipboy was going crazy." She postulated.

"We should find the Sherriff. It doesn't sit well with me that the bomb is still a threat." He said looking around at all the people who were oblivious to the threat.  
>"I cannot permit the danger to exist, knowing what I do. I last saw him by the front gate again. We must speak to him about it." Arthur insisted.<p>

Together they walked with a degree of haste towards the gate in search of a man they needed permission to save from nuclear death. Neither of them were willing to let the bomb exist in its current state, notwithstanding its inactive life so far, but that was of little condolence for them.

They found the sheriff propped up against a rusted wall smoking the last of the cigarette between his fingers. He noticed the pair walk up to him and once more started smiling at them.

"Well, I'm glad you two have decided to stick around. What can I help you two with?"

Amata walked in front of Arthur with the intention of talking with a purpose.

"Mr Simms, are you aware that the bomb within the crater is still active and poses a threat to you?"

The sheriff gave the both of them an uneasy look. He threw the butt of the cigarette to the ground and looked rather seriously back at them, no sign of that childish grin upon his face.

"I am, but I don't trust any of the locals to tinker with it; besides, most people don't even realise it's a threat." he said, taking a slightly hostile approach to what he saw as a very sensitive matter. "And hell, Cromwell and those crazies from the church of Atom, they worship the damn thing."

"I think I could disarm it for you, for good. I don't think that in its current state, especially considering how many people… interact with it, it is a good idea to have it live. I can disarm it, if I had some equipment and some help." She assured.

Arthur took a step forwards and nominated himself for the position.

The sheriff looked them over once more, suspicious of why two strangers would want to disarm such a precarious bomb. It didn't add up to him; such actions did not occur in the wastes, without heavy compensation. However he capitulated for the simple fact that he was never comfortable with such an object in the centre of the town.

"Oh all right," he yielded "fine, but listen here, just take a look at it first. If you get the job done there'll be one hundred caps in it for you." He offered.

Arthur and Amata gave him a strange puzzled look, almost insulted.

"What? Don't you want money?" he said, equally confused.

Arthur replied incredulously, "By caps, I presume you mean the item that seals bottles?"

The sheriff nodded, regarding the question as axiomatic.

"And that's your currency? That's ridiculous. How do you intend on regulating a reserve? How could you control inflation, counterfeiting, is the currency based on a gold standard or something? It's the most poorly thought through system one could possibly think of." He declared.

The sheriff laughed at his remarks, thinking that Arthur didn't know the world he was in.  
>"Listen kid, people don't think about that round here. They get up and spend their caps on drink; 'gold reserves' don't enter into it."<p>

Arthur shook his head in disbelief and looked to Amata who was thinking what he was thinking.  
>"Nonetheless, we cannot accept money for such a service. We cannot by our own want leave such a hazard to the population unresolved; god knows there are people who would abuse such a situation. Anyone of half decent being would not accept money for services rendered, when we gain the satisfaction of knowing every night might not be your last. Assurance is payment enough. We decline your offer, but thank you for the sentiment."<p>

"All right, all right." He said graciously smiling at them. "That's mighty decent of you, just don't go... you know… blowing us up."

"I can't see the benefit to myself through such an action." Arthur smiled as he turned back to Amata. "You think you know how to disarm a nuclear bomb?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, I just need to take out one of the two reactive cores and the rest of the bomb is inert." She recited.

"And where did you learn that?" Arthur demanded curiously.

"I had to study these things, I don't know why but my father gave me a stack of text books and this was one topic I had to study. Why, jealous?" she jested.

"Well there is something rather emasculating about having you be able to do this, and me not. One would associate that ability with men, rather than a woman. But I suppose professionalism is not exclusive to sex; but opinion would have it as such, as it were."

"Well, I know how hopeless you are with technology so it's a good job that I know a thing or two." She said as she bounced off from the ball of her feet and walked down towards the bomb.

The bomb itself was buried at the very front to about one fifth of the length of the body. Usually, for a stable platform the ratio for buried to unburied is approximately 1/3 respectively. To have such a destructive and tenuous an object in such a precarious position was beyond the pale. The way the bomb would detonate was a relatively simple design, using a uranium bullet to fire into a plutonium core, creating an unstable mass that would degrade very quickly. Amata knew that the mechanism for firing such a bullet was on a series of pullies, rather than anything pneumatic, so any degradation of any mechanism was cause for deep concern.

She approached the bomb with a great degree of apprehension. She was confident in her abilities as a mechanic but to disarm a nuclear device shook her deeply indeed. She stood before the bomb and began looking for an engineering or maintenance opening. The writing upon the bomb was in Chinese, rendering it hopeless to find it via the methods of those who built it would disassemble it.

Arthur stood silently behind her, once again with his arms crossed and his distinctive look upon his face as he studied the town further. Confessor Cromwell was still in the water professing his love for the bomb and the holy light that would soon shine upon them; Arthur sincerely hoped he was wrong. However the majority of his attention was spent on Amata, as she studiously looked over the bomb again and again. He was so captivated by her that he did not realise the man who was standing behind them.

"Excuse me," came a deep worn voice.  
>Arthur turned around to see a weathered face with a bright white beard in a fouled jumpsuit. The man had a large metal box in his hand and a wrench in the other.<p>

"Yes, sir. Can I help?" Arthur asked.

"Are you here to fix the bomb?" he questioned.

Arthur laughed to himself at the apparent blasé manner in which he questioned their activity with the bomb; as if the matter was a triviality. "We are. My name is Arthur Wellesley and the lady is Amata Almodovar," he greeted as he waved in the direction of Amata who was still looking at the bomb.

"Sheriff said you needed these." He said as he handed out the large box, which was in fact a box full of tools. Arthur took them from him and was surprised at the great weight of the box, and the ease in which the man handed it to him.  
>"Names' Walter. I'm glad someone has finally decided to fix that thing. That fucking bomb is killing us all slowly." He declared.<p>

Arthur nodded in agreement. "That it is, but, shortly, we hope to have removed the threat. Access, however, is proving problematic." He admitted.

"Under all that Kung Fu scribble in yellow, that hatch. I've opened it once before to see if I could do anything but, well, I don't know anythin' about that sort of thing." He informed.

"Thank you, that information is invaluable." Arthur thanked.

Amata had overheard Arthur talking and was walking over to them when she heard of the hatch Walter had just told them about. She quietly took the box of tools from Arthurs hand and began silently working on the bomb. Suddenly there was an explosion of anger from the Confessor.

"Hands off the Holy Relic! You dare defile atoms altar with your perfidious tools of destruction! You dare lay your sacrilegious hands on such a gift from the lord!" he screamed as he waded through the water towards Amata who had begun to open the panel.

"Jesus Christ…" Walter muttered as Arthur began to move himself protectively between Amata and Cromwell. Walter grabbed the maddening Cromwell by the arms and pulled him harshly away as Cromwell thrashed in the general direction of Amata, who stood looking concerned for the man who quite clearly had lost his mind. Arthur gave Amata a worried look, which Amata returned.

By now the town had gathered around the see the commotion and were curiously looking at the bomb. People who were high up on the gantries were peering down upon them, giving disapproving looks along the way. Despite this, Amata continued with the disassembly process. She removed the outermost panel from the bomb to reveal the intricate maze of wires and mechanisms which would detonate the bomb. From her position, looking into the bomb, she could see the two radioactive substances in their respective cradles. One of the gear shafts that were designed to release when the bomb was to detonate had been bent and warped, suggesting that was the cause of the dud.

Amata carefully removed key parts from the bomb including the wires and several bolts which held the higher mechanism in progress. She left the two radiation sources in situ, which were still reactive, but with the key components removed and a great deal of the firing mechanism either destroyed or removed, there was no chance of detonation, either accidental or deliberate. She finished up by placing a spanner alongside one of the radiation metals and began sacrilegiously bashing away at the surrounding mechanism. The metals buckled under the stress and were placed in such a position where no matter the repairs on the key components, the damage to the rest of the structure was irreparable, rendering the bomb completely inert.

She pulled herself from the bomb and turned around to see the spectators lining the bomb. Arthur had been stood behind her all the time, protecting her from another fanatic like Cromwell. The whole process had taken less than five minutes but the air of caution and uneasiness had completely filled the situation.

Amata picked up the box of tools and handed it back to Walter who had strolled back up to her. Cromwell, strangely, was nowhere in sight. Simms walked from the crowd and began ordering people to return to their jobs, claiming 'There was nothing to see'. Simms then walked towards the pair as the crowd dispersed. He had a relieved look upon his face.

"I'll be dammed, you did it didn't you, you disarmed that thing." He said as he beamed at Amata. "And all without asking for pay too. Hell, why don't you move in. Here's the key and the deed to an empty house; consider yourselves megaton citizens." He offered, as he pulled a scrap of paper and a key from his trench coat pocket.

Amata smiled gratefully as she accepted the key from his hands and spun it round her fingers, admiring the scratched and worn key to their new home.

"That's very kind of you sheriff, thank you very much."

The sheriff waved her off with his hand. "It's nothing, don't mention it. Oh and talk to Moira at Craterside supply. She's got random odds and ends you might be able to spruce the place up with."

Arthur stepped forwards with a serious face on once more.  
>"Sheriff, you hospitality is most becoming of you, but no gift you could bestow upon me would surmount to information of my father. I beg you tell me anything you know."<p>

The sheriff gave a look as if to relent. "I did see a man, wearing a jumpsuit like yours, come through here a day ago. He left and then this other guy just shows up, looking for him too, he says. He's in Moriarty's saloon; goes by the name of Burke. Speak to him, see if he know anything, but kid, watch yourself, there something awful strange about him." Simms warned.

"Duly noted." Arthur replied, giving him a thankful, though still serious look.

Walter walked up to Arthur as he was about to start walking away and began making his speech.

"Can you help me?" he asked.

Arthur turned to Walter and gave a slightly impatient look, eager to find out what he could of his father. Arthur nodded hastily as Amata walked to his side.

"It's no secret that the old water plant is on its last legs, and I'm the only one in town that can keep the damn thing running. I spend so much time in the plant that I can fix all the leaks that keep springing up in the pipes around town. Now I don't expect much from strangers, but, well, see, I really need your help, and seeing as she is so good at this sort of stuff, can you both give me a hand."

"I'm sorry, I cannot afford my time. I thank you for the tools but we are not interested in every quibble that comes our way. It would be fatal to tend to every fault in this world, for we would lose sight of our goal. So for that reason, I must refuse." Arthur rejected bluntly.

Amata standing by his side gave Arthur a fierce hit in the ribs with her elbow. She scowled vehemently at his before softening herself to look at the dejected Walter.

"I would love to help. I'm sorry about Arthur, apparently the radiation has killed his manners," she glowered. "I would certainly help, and I'm sure whatever Arthur needs done can be done alone."

Arthur thought about protesting, but he saw the logic in the arrangement and he agreed.

"Very well." He acquiesced. "Please, come and find me after your errands, I do not wish to do everything by myself." He asked, giving a soft look.

Amata nodded, losing her anger at him before walking off with Walter as they began chatting about the water facilities.

Arthur walked quickly up to the level in which the saloon was based. At the corresponding level was a collection of half unconscious patrons, who either struggled to stay upright or stay away, which reminded Arthur, with some degree of smugness, of why he would never drink in the first place.  
>He found the saloon at the end of a grotty, half collapsing pier like construction. From the building flowed a strong mixture of smells: sick, old alcohol and urine. Arthur grimaced at the sight as he walked the final few steps to the door.<p>

He pushed apart the door to be confronted with one of the most abhorrent scenes he could imagine. Inside were about twenty people, so inebriated and rowdy that he could barely hear the door shut behind him. The building stank as one might imagine, and people had no qualms with displaying everything for some poor, drunk fuelled jokes. In front of him was a bar, and behind the bar were the walking remains of a man. His skin was green, with the occasional patch of red muscle showing through. He had no hair and his skeleton was clearly visible in some places. Whatever it was, it should not have been alive.

Arthur began scanning the room for any hints as to where Mr Burke might be. He spotted a lone man, sat in a civilised manner with a scotch in his hand, in a shaded corner, puffing slowly, methodically on a cigar. The man was staring straight to Arthur, not noticing anything but him and the room seemed to grow dark as his stare intensified.

Arthur, unperturbed, walked towards the man in the shady corner. He walked right up to the table and stood as the two men engaged in the staring contents.

"Mr Burke, I presume." Arthur broke, offering his hand.

The man smiled a narrow toothy grin, accentuated by the hat covering his face. Arthur noticed the impeccable attire in which his opponent was dressed, and was envious of the style which he possessed.

"Word must get around." He smiled. "Please, take a seat, Mr Wellesley." Burke offered with his hand before briefly shaking Arthurs.  
>Arthur knew that burke was a very special man, one with both the intelligence and the means to be dangerous on a level nobody in the saloon could possess. He knew that Burke had a mission, and he knew that he could exploit this to his own gain, provided he played along. Arthur cautiously took the seat opposite him.<p>

"Mr Burke, I am to believe that you have some form of intelligence of my father, or some interest, or else you would be elsewhere, let alone know my name."

Burke once again smiled his grin and took a brief sip of his drink.

"Mr Wellesley, allow me to savour the moment. It is rare to find a man with such… civility; it's most refreshing."

"But of course. However I am not here for such a thing." Arthur said, trying to redirect the conversation. Arthur knew that he was dealing with a clever man, and he knew that he had to treat the situation was a degree of caution.

"But of course. A man, of brevity, such manners tends not to exist around here." Burke focused. "Your father represents… special interests to my employer. He was once invaluable, and my employer would like to start correspondence with him again, and I assume you are aware that I know exactly who you are."

"It would be folly to assume otherwise." Arthur retorted.

"Indeed it would. However," he said looking around the saloon, "this is hardly the venue for business, if you would follow me to my residence, then we may discuss this in a far more… candid fashion. Money should hardly be spoken of out loud, I'm sure you'll agree." Burke grinned once more. There was a great and malevolent air about Burke, where everything he did seemed calculating, like a chess master, planning Arthurs move five steps ahead.

Arthur rose from his feet, briefly followed by Burke. "Mr Burke, you have my attention. Please, after you."

They both walked from the stinking saloon into the brisk night air. By now the world around them was black and the stares shone brightly in the sky, unpolluted by light. Burke led the way as they descended into the settlement, level by level, in total silence. Arthur followed him closely, not letting him out of sight for a moment.  
>It was not long before they had reached Burkes residence; a small house, built from the remains of what looked like aircraft parts. It was small, but then again Burke appeared to be a man of means.<p>

"Here we are, my home away from home." He grinned as he swung the door open. Inside it was bare, with very few amenities, suggesting Burke had no intention on staying. The building was divided up into, from Arthurs perspective, three small rooms; a front room, which acted also as a bedroom, and a kitchen just behind, with a smaller room in the corner, presumably the toilet.

Arthur entered the building and stood in the main room by a padded chair.

"Please, sit." Burke said as he motioned with his hand towards the chair.

"Thank you very much." replied Arthur.

"So Mr Wellesley, now that we have a degree of privacy, I can tell you in greater detail why I am affiliated with your father." Burke said, getting suddenly intense as he leaned over the gap between them, hands tightly together and staring right at Arthur. Arthur replied in kind, as he leant forward, with a most serious look upon his face.

"My employer is a man of once great standing, and your father worked with him on a great venture."

"Rubbish," Arthur interjected. "My father was born in the vault" he replied, rather naïvely.

Burke smiled in somewhat of a capricious manner, as his face danced between amused, annoyed and then serious.

"Is that so? Well, Mr Wellesley, I assure you that your father has not been as forthcoming with the truth, unlike me. So we can pretend that what you think is true, or we can carry on, and pretend what you just said never happened. The choice is yours." He offered, once more grinning under his hat.

Arthur thought for a moment, it didn't add up that Mr Burke knew so much, and reacted so fast to his father's arrival for them not to have met, either man to man or through other connections. Arthur had to accept that there was a possibility that his father was not born in the vault.

"I apologise, please, carry on, Mr Burke."

"Such manners, we shall get along so well. But your father worked with my employer on a very important job. He left, and with it the expertise your father possess. My employer simply wants your father to work with him again, on another grand venture, and I assume by your fathers… escape shall we say… that he is interested in my proposal, if he had it delivered to him. This, Mr Wellesley, is where you come in. I want you to deliver this offer to him. Verbally, of course, there is no need for contracts yet. Besides, I'm sure your father would like to have this returned to him." He grinned, this time more sinisterly as he placed a silver pocket watch upon the table. The watch was intricately designed, with engravings of laurels all the way around. Arthur could hear the ticking of the watch from the other end of the table.

"Mr Burke, I know not why my father has left, indeed it is my aim to find out why he escaped and this the sole reason for my being here. From hence I see nothing but squalor, and you expect me to find my father, who I know neither his location nor his motive?" Arthur said, squinting his eyes in a serious fashion.

He leaned closer to Burke and began to study him quietly, though quickly. It was clear the man wanted his father, though he had not told Arthur anything of the truth. No employer would have sent such a seemingly volatile man, who effervesced of violence, to pass on a simple contract. Arthur quickly deduced that Burke was a hit man, sent to kill his father, though he did not doubt that Burkes employer had once had dealing with his father.

"If you will forgive my candid manner, I cannot for a moment believe that your interactions, or want thereof, cannot be of any interest for any loving son. I know that you are not an affable man, you are not a business man, and you are not here to offer my father a job, that is to say, your job has been offered to kill him."

"Mr Wellesley, you mistake me for an uncivilised man…" Burke retorted, somewhat fiercely.

"Even the most civilised of men can burn with the hatred passion for another. Manners are the foundation of civilisation, but ambition is the bedrock under which it will crumble." Arthur quoted.

"What would I gain from your father's death?" Burked questioned, clearly getting frustrated as he picked up his scotch glass he had heretofore placed on the table.

"Am I to believe that a man who carries a knife on his belt can be trusted, when a pen is better suited to his job?" Arthur positioned.

Burked looked down to his belt, around which was slung a knife in a scabbard. He began chuckling to himself.  
>"Very well. So it begins."<br>With that Burke held up his scotch glass and launched it at Arthur. The glass impacted the side of his face, notwithstanding his reaction away from the projectile. Small shards of glass few across the room as the glass shattered against Arthurs head.

Burke leaped from his seat and charged at the stunned Arthur, who was in the process of standing up. With one swift motion, Burke charged into Arthur and knocked him to the floor and began an attempt at pinning him down.  
>Arthur had regained enough celerity to fight against Burke, but feared for it all when he saw Burke making a movement for his scabbard.<p>

Arthur broke free for just a moment, but it allowed him to grasp at the knife, pull at it and release it from its scabbard, and throw it across the room and into the kitchen in one swift movement. Though still losing the war as he was pinned under Burke, he had withdrawn Burke's most formidable weapon.  
>What ensued was tantamount to a wrestling match as both men, fiercely grunting, fought each other as they each tried to punch their opponent into submission.<p>

* * *

><p>Amata was busy at work repairing a leaking pipe. She was straddled alongside it, with a small jet of water spraying into her face, as she attempted to bend old metal around the crack and weld it in place. Her work had been hard and unrewarding; the pipes being so old that often the repair work would be as much a detriment as age would be in itself. She was a bit miffed that Arthur hadn't helped, but she knew that he had an objective, and couldn't be mad for wanting to find his father. However she was now cold and wet and in great want of a shower, but she knew that bathing was going to be nothing of a fond memory after this.<p>

She was bending a small piece of metal around a he knee to mould it to the pipe when she heard a smashing noise, like a glass. She thought nothing of it, probably another drunk; she had already had two of them hit on her. But then came a heavy thump, and then more sounds of smashing objects. She rose to her feet and began looking around the murky settlement, trying to see if she would see the fight.

The sheriff was wandering around the same level that Amata was on; so Amata decided to shout to him.

"Sheriff! Can you hear that?" she bellowed.

The sheriff stopped in his tracks and lifted his head up slightly as he began carefully listening to the sounds. After a few seconds he raised his finger to his lips, telling Amata to be quiet and then he beckoned her to come to him. Amata ran over silently to Simms, who without speaking motioned her to follow him as he began stealthily walking down the stairs.

The sound was coming from Burke house, and in precaution, Simms unshouldered his rifle; Amata, having no weapon, pulled out a wrench from her tool belt provided by Walter. They walked up to the door of Burke's house and listened closely. Inside they could hear the grunts of two men fighting on the floor, with the sound of furniture breaking in the struggle.  
>Simms slowly moved his hand towards the door handle, and as it settle upon it, he tentatively began bringing the handle down. In one movement he swung the door open and aimed his rifle at the two men.<br>One man had the other pinned against the wall by his neck, feet off the ground and violently kicking into the man's stomach. The man did nothing but stare malevolently at his victim, withstanding the painful onslaught of kicks with not a hint of pain.

Simms identified the man being pinned as Arthur, and without hesitation, he shot at Burke. Two rounds flew out of his rifle, one striking Burke in the stomach, the other hitting harmlessly at the wall. Burke crumpled to the floor in agony and Arthur fell to the floor, coughing and spluttering for air.

Burke squirmed around on the floor helplessly, whilst Arthur looked on angrily.

"What the hell is going on here?" Simms demanded as he stood over Burke.

"That man is the scum of the earth! He is a hit man, devoid of compassion! Money is the source of his affection. It's been a damned serious business." Arthur coughed with remonstrance.

"Did you start this?" Simms said, half accusing.

Arthur turned back and gave an aggravated look.

"If you believe that, you'll believe anything." he nearly spat, still outraged over the events.

Amata ran over to Arthur and gave him a quick hug, recoiling when he gasped at the pain which was caused by Burke's beating.

"I need your help, he has something connecting him to his employer, I am sure of it." Arthur requested.

Amata walked into the kitchen to find a two way radio and a small pile of papers. Overturning the papers, she found writing which had been elegantly written upon the page.

"Arthur, look at this." Amata called.

Arthur walked over to the radio and looked at the paper.

It read:  
>"Locate the boy, use him to find James. No excuses, no exceptions.<br>-F.W."

Arthur looked at the paper for a few moments after reading it, with Amata also reading the note.

"Who is F.W?" she asked.

"It would be axiomatic to say; our enemy." Arthur replied coldly. Arthur looked at the floor in the main room again, searching for the watch. Beside Burke's squirming body was the silver watch. He approached and took the watch from next to Burke and examined it in his hands. He looked over the engravings again and again as he moved the watch about in his hands as he felt the chain in his other hand.  
>He opened it, with a press of a button at the top and the front panel of the watch swung down. The watch face was silver, with golden highlights and a clear back, to see the intricate mechanical workings. But the other panel was more interesting. There were two photos, in portrait and black and white. One man was in a suit and the other in a dress. It took Arthur a moment but he could tell that the man was James, but he had no definitive answer for the woman.<p>

Arthur felt a lump develop in his throat as he tried to suppress a whirlwind of emotions. In retaliation he quickly hid the watch in his pocket and turned around to Amata and Simms, who were preoccupied with other activities. Arthur looked at Burke, still rolling on the ground.

"We should get him some medical attention." Arthur suggested. 

* * *

><p>Hello everyone, sorry this chapter took so long to publish, but it is massive, I'm sure you'll agree. I hope you're all enjoying this, any feed back is welcome, and encouraged. This is the point where I take the story my own way, and I hope you have found this deviation interesting. Ive got loads planned for this, but I could use with some feedback, any will do. The next chapter will come in about a month or so and it's going to do a lot for the background. I hope you all stay with me and enjoy this as much as I have writing it. Thanks!<p> 


	7. Cordial Relations

James stood on the foredeck of the ship, firmly grasping the railings as the ship rolled slightly in the grey ocean. He stood staring into a morass of fog that enveloped everything outside of arm's length. He stood in silence, trying to find a second of solitude on what had been an arduous journey which had taken them three weeks to complete. The ocean, though he could not see it, comforted him as the sounds of the waves were a relief, compared to below decks of the destroyer.

From behind him, James could hear the approaching footsteps of one of the deck hands. He sighed, knowing that his moment of silence was to be broken in yet another meeting only to further the ambiguity of a mission which the details of had still not been disclosed.

The footsteps stopped a few metres behind as the person steadied themselves. They coughed quietly and spoke as any gentleman should.

"Your Grace, The Duke of Suffolk requests your presence upon the bridge. The matter is most urgent he tells me." The young sailor implored.

James turned around to the able hand and smiled an almost disappointed smile.

"Thank you Mr Cartwright, I shall head up now." James said.

The able hand nodded and spun on his heels before walking away. James, not being a man of the sea, found the ease at which the sailors moved about on the decks a little disconcerting and embarrassing considering the ungraceful stumbling which had been his mode of gate for the journey; he was often caught off guard by some rogue wave that lashed the ship and sent him stumbling, but those sailors took it within their strides.  
>James watched the man vanish into the fog before slowly making his way to the door, taking pains to walk as slowly as possible in a petty attempt to waste time.<br>Unfortunately he found the door in good time and was obliged to open it with due haste, lest one of the deck hands see him and further his embarrassment.

He rolled the door lock clockwise and pushed it open, to be presented with a warm, damp flush of air. He grimaced slightly before stepping in, wishing his duties did not require his time, which James had come to covet greatly. His drill shoes banged loudly against the metal floor as he began waking to the stairs, inwardly thinking about his prospects of swimming home.

Once James had reached the stairs, he looked upwards and saw a man standing in good order, waiting patiently for him. James smiled as he realised that man was a friendly face on-board an unfriendly ship. The man was Captain Waters, a tall man of a quiet disposition, but emphatically friendly. He had become good friends with James while they were on the ship, both being men of the military, they found comfort within each other's ways. Waters sported a small pencil moustache, which was always perfectly trimmed, with his short black hair combed over in an equally well tamed fashion and his peaked cap always being carefully placed on his head. He was a man of incredible talent, being handpicked by the Ministry of War commission from thousands of possible applicants. He was the type of man whose presence made the difference in any situation, and though quiet, he was an immensely popular officer within the army.

"Captain," James cocked. "And to what honour do I owe this meeting?"

"The dishonour is the briefing, Your Grace." He smiled back.

"It's not that bad is it Waters?" he asked, knowing his response already.

"Positively ghastly sir; and you know it too. Stop being coy." He joked.

"Tell me Waters, why are you here to escort me to the briefing? I know my way around the ship by now." James questioned.

"I have no doubt Your Grace, however I was not sent to escort you, but rather to hurry you up, and not by my own intuition might I add." He said, giving James a look of a man who is too often messed around.

"Well, lead the way." James gestured.

Waters lead the way through corridors lined with pipes to the main bridge. He stopped outside of the room and turned to James.

"Brace yourself; god knows what he has come up with this time." Waters warned.

He pushed the door open and upon looking into the bridge the two late comers saw five figures either leaning over a table in the centre of the room, or looking at the table with equal interest. As the door stopped its movement all the figures of the room looked from the table to the two late entrants, one man scowling as if to melt metal.

The scowling man was The Duke of Suffolk, Francis Walsingham. A fearsome man, known for his dislike of anyone he considered to be lesser than him, which was practically everyone, and in due course everyone knew him as a man of immense incompetence, where he claimed every success was his own, while every failure was a direct result of everyone around him; allegedly, of course. He was wearing a black suit with a double breast, sporting a thick moustache and bushy eyebrows to match. His face was weathered and his greying hair gave away his age long before his temper would. His wrinkly face gestured to a spot adjacent to him in relation to the table, indicating the two should stand there.

"You're late." He scolded.

"I know, Your Grace, I was otherwise indisposed." James lied, avoiding the fact he was in fact relaxing outside.

"I don't know why I have been given such an unruly crew for this task." He muttered loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

James silently walked to his position, not daring to argue with a man who would explode with the slightest of discourteous movements.

Walsingham's eyed James all the way to his position, still apparently trying to make James' head explode.

"Right, let's finally begin, shall we?" Walsingham gestured as he pointed to the map of the American East coast.

"Listen carefully, I'm not repeating myself when I say this," he warned.

"During the Atomic War two hundred years ago, America declared war upon our ally Canada, eliciting a response for our government. Unfortunately we were so wrapped up in the Persian Wars that we could not move upon the U.S. until after we withdrew from that particular war and the E.U. in question, or rather, we could not move in any significant manner. We were then seen as unaligned to any belligerent and as such, when the nuclear bombs fell upon the earth, we only got the slightest of bombings, which we successfully managed to parry without injury. Now two hundred years after that disaster, we have re-established ourselves as the preeminent force in Europe, and with America and China out of the picture, quiet possibly the world.

Now under the "Recolonization" programme the government has embarked upon, the British military is to land in Canada and lend assistance to the pro-British government there. Needless to say Canada got its portion of the war sent its way, the damage was insufficient to destroy the country entirely, and when the U.S. withdrew in the wake of the bombings, a Canadian government was re-established.  
>As I have mentioned, a large British landing force is to land in Canada and support the Canadian government with resettling the land that it has lost, and begin the land recolonization which will add to the British Empire.<br>_  
>We<em> are not that expedition. We are being sent to the ruins of the U.S governmental capital to seek and establish contact with any government that is left. From here I have nothing to add except that Her Majesties Government is investing a lot of capital and resources into our mission; the stakes are high but the rewards greater. As the highest ranking among you, I shall be in charge of this operation. You are not to challenge my authority in anyway, and if so I will make it a treasonable offense and you will be charged as such. I am the Queen's ambassador, you and therefore they will treat me as such. Are we clear?" he demanded as he looked round the room seeing people nod without looking him in the eye.

"Good. Consul Raleigh will brief you from here." Walsingham ended as he took a step back.

A small woman walked up to the table, dressed in No2 military dress and with her hands behind her back. She was a black woman with her hair tied neatly into a bun which was under her cap. She was Commissariat Consul Raleigh, the adjutant for this mission, specialising in foreign relations. While Walsingham was head command, Raleigh arguably had the most important job of developing relations and brokering deals, no easy task considering they had no idea what to expect when they arrived.

"Gentlemen," she started confidently, her face emotionless as ever. "We have established radio contact with a local governmental force operating throughout the Washington area; based, it would seem, at the abandoned U.S. defence headquarters, known as the Pentagon. We know little of these people, other than they are known as "The Brotherhood". Intelligence suggests they are the remnants of the U.S. army. We are to try and establish diplomatic relations with them, and from there we are to see where it leads us. I have already spoken to their commander, a man called Lyons, his rank within their organisation is referred to as Elder and you will address him as such, it would do much good for us to respect them. He requested an envoy to discuss furthering our relations. You are all here to help me in this mission and we must do our best to succeed. Gentlemen, I know not what to expect when we arrive, but I have faith in you all.  
>Waters, you and your detachment are to assist the Brotherhood, I believe they have quite the problem with raiders or tribals, it is not entirely apparent what their problem is., so be prepared to expect anything, bring equipment as such."<p>

"Yes ma'am." Waters dutifully replied.

"Your Grace, Wellesley, you are to assist their research while we are there, I know you are more at home with chemical sciences but I know you have the breadth to overcome any difficulty."

James nodded silently.

"It will not be easy, I know, but we have to make an impact here today. We cannot afford to create an enemy for ourselves upon the east coast. Good luck gentlemen."

Walsingham stepped forth to the table once more and gave an agitated look, cocking one bushy eyebrow in the direction of Waters.

"Given that I requested an intelligence brief from Waters, I can give you no further information, owing to his apparent lack of any degree of understanding for the most basic of tasks."

Waters sighed audibly, fed up with the man's usual trifle.

"Now, Your Grace, with, respect, I gathered intelligence upon Washington, but the information you provided me hardly sufficient to…"

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare criticise me! I gave you one simple task, gather intelligence on Washington and you bring me a dossier on the bloody western state?!" Walsingham vehemently shouted, his red cheeks showing his rage as much as his deep voice.

"You gave me instructions based on a sentence sir, how could I have possibly have known that you meant Washington D.C.? If you had specified that…" he was once more cut off from his blatant logic and argument only to be shouted down by the man with the bigger title.

"If there is one thing I hate Waters, Its ingratitude." Walsingham spat, his eyes widening slightly into a piercing stare, almost maddened by the mere prospect of a man with no title challenging his authority upon this mission. "I was not appointed to this position, me, a man of my rank, to be told 'what not' by insubordinate officers. One more word sir and you will find yourself without a commission and without a boat on which to sale home. Am I clear?" Walsingham asserted slamming his hand down forcefully upon the table.

"Indubitably, Your Grace." Waters angrily acquiesced, beginning a hate filled stare at the ignorant man.

The room was thrown in silence as the two men battled with their eyes for dominance. Finally after some intense moments in the room the Captain of the ship, Captain Evans, stepped forward, intent on breaking the deadlock with business as usual.

"Carriers HMS Inglorious, Furious, Hermes and Prince George V are disposed to the invasion of Canada, as well as several battleships, battlecruisers and their associated fleets. I will station our ship, the Resolute, ten miles from the shores of Washington. If need be our 5.5" guns can be brought to bear upon any target within 15 miles and the missiles up to 30. We will render assistance if necessary; however do not abuse these privileges, as we have no need to alert the local government to our capabilities. Our team of commandos will be accompanying Waters upon to the landing site, after that they are at your command," he gestured to Waters.  
>"Radio for assistance and we will do as needed. Anything else and just radio through and we will come and get you. We have supplies for two months, but after that we must meet Argus for a resupply, which will should two weeks. So there will be a window of vulnerability for that time when we are absent. For the first week our task is to sail down the coast and use the on-board helicopter to survey the damage to the cities and use it's infrared to identify other possible sites of interest; gun support will be offline for that time. We depart for that task tomorrow. The landing boats leave in 30 minutes, I suggest you secure your rooms and secure your kit. We will have the helicopter on standby for any mishaps. Good luck gentlemen."<p>

The Captain walked back from the table, and without a word, everyone began filing from the room, and a slightly disconcerting feeling left with every one of them. Everyone knew the temper of Walsingham, but no one had thought it would crop up this early, or with this ferocity. Especially worrying was that there was now a great divide between him and Waters. Speculation swam round in their heads whether this operation would succeed, or whether the damages inflicted were already too much?

Outside the room Waters and James walked to the staging area of the ship to prepare Waters' webbing, rifle and equipment while James readied his medical supplies, his pistol and his personal food. Waters was being unusually quiet while preparing his kit, but James understood owing to the harsh reprimanding.

"Who is coming then?" James broke as the two still readied themselves

"My team, yourself, Raleigh, Suffolk and Lady Suffolk." Waters said, frowning intensely at the thought of the man.

James looked up in surprisement at the assembly.

"Walsingham's wife is coming?" he asked, giving Waters a slightly incredulous look.

Waters nodded at him, replying only with a contemptuous look.

"That's against regulations. He can't do that? She is a liability, she contributes nothing. I see no reason why she has to come." James argued to a man who he already knew was on his side.

"If you asked me, I would class Suffolk himself as a liability. Why such an important mission, and why him? Tell me, in the medical industry do you have a word for people like him?"

"No but we have the relevant injections," James joked, cheering up Waters, if only slightly. "I suspect that the only reason he is here is because he has found himself in debt, without the money and in need of prestige. This job solves all three of those problems. Nobody wants this job as its too dangerous, but it pays well if successful and he can pay off, or continue, his alcoholism with that money." James figured.

"Now sir, civility should not be entangled with alcoholism." Waters coyly defended.

"Well if alcoholism is civility, then we are bringing the right man to this most uncivilised of lands."

Waters laughed slightly before shouldering his webbing and his rifle. He shouted for his team to assemble before him and started his brief to them.

James was still crouching on the floor by his backpack wondering if he had the correct equipment for the job; which started a train of thought. He didn't actually know what job he was to be assigned to. He did not know, exactly, what role he was in. He did not know, ultimately, how he is relevant. However, Raleigh walked towards him a crouched by his side. She was dressed in full No.2s and with her cap on still; uniform which was perhaps too formal for a quasi-invasion. Raleigh was the type of person who knew what to say, and knew peoples responses.

"Coldstream, I know we have been less than clear on your role, but secrecy here is paramount. You are to land with the brotherhood and begin several tasks. One; leak scientific information to improve relations with our country, that is from us to them. This is your most important mission. Two, begin a survey of what they know and what they don't. Any intelligence is vital, and any centres of information, schools and museums for examples, are points of interest. And three, generally help out their scientific community. Any advances will be good. Make friends and help with everything. You are my key asset, James. I chose you for a reason." Raleigh said, smiling gently to him, a rare occurrence, it should be noted.

"Thank you for the clarification; I was wondering what I was really to do when I got there. I just assumed to be an open clinic to those in need."

"If that constitutes helping, then please." Raleigh nodded and promptly walked off.

Waters returned from his briefing as his men walked away to the small boats that would take them ashore. He knelt beside James and thought deeply for a moment. James saw his face was deep in thought.

"Is there anything that I can help with?" James questioned.

"Do you ever wonder why we are here?"

"Waters, you know I don't have time for these 'Bigger Questions'…"

"No, I don't care for those questions. I mean why we are here, here on the coast of a destroyed America; why we are going to a ruined city? Does this not strike you as odd that we are establishing communications with a small local government?"

"Waters," James said seriously. "The way I found out I was attached to this message was a small post-it note on my desk telling me to go to some room. Three men were there and practically begged me to go on a 'special assignment'. The moment I knew we were at American coast was in that meeting. I would be more concerned if they told us everything." James admitted. Waters' face did not change from his concerned look.

"Do you want to go home?" Waters asked.

James paused at the question. "I… I do. But this is my mission, I know we have information withheld, but when haven't we under Walsingham's command?"

"True, but I have a horrible, ghastly feeling this endeavour will go to no one's plans and any expectations we have now will be irrelevant later on. I wish I had never come. The leadership is dire, the mission is imprecise and the objectives we are expected to succeeded are far more oblique for a man such as myself. Nevertheless I'll go hell for leather for it, but I harboured doubts since day one." Waters admitted.

"That sounds right to me. Listen, these are circumstances beyond our control. There is nothing we can do but our jobs." James smiled and looked at his silver pocket watch. "It's time to launch the boats I think." James said, showing Waters the time.

"No no. I've got one or two minutes left. However I better had make sure that my lads are prepped and all that. See in you god knows where, James." He said giving a wink.

James laughed a little, it being Waters first time calling him by his forename.

James shouldered his bag and whilst comparing the size of the large burgens the soldiers were carrying to his backpack, he suddenly realised his bag was rather small. He remembered back to his days of basic training, having to carry an overweight pack over unnecessarily rough terrain to prove some point he couldn't quite remember.

Waters pushed any regrets to the back of his mind as he approached his men who were begging to file out to the boats that that been set into the water.

"Sergeant Redhouse, are we ready?" he asked, scanning over his men and equipment, lest he forget any.

"Present and accounted for, sir. His Grace the Duke of Suffolk and his associates are not on the same craft as we area, they are in one which should be moment behind us. We are to land upon a pier near an old aircraft carrier. There we shall be met by a small envoy team and then we shall be escorted to the Pentagon, where we shall set up a forward base."

"Very good, sergeant. Well done. Release the boats, let's not waste time." Waters smiled as he jumped into one of the ridged hull inflatable boats. The boat swayed with his landing, making for unsteady faces from his team.

"Okay gents, we are professionals, so act accordingly. I expect nothing but the best from each of you. Stick to your training and your rifles and there shall be no incidents. Hold on though, I can't imagine this being a comfortable journey." He said as he sat down on a seat, stealthily gripping for life as the boat rolled as the team embarked upon the boat as well and engine kicked off and sent the boat lurching forwards. 

* * *

><p>The boats bounced violently off the crest of the grey waves as they progressed at full speed towards the pier. The fog still clung heavily to the air and the entire team of commandos cautiously peered into the morass, trying to discern any landing spot. The boats engines whirred down as the pilot saw that the GPS said he was close. Under momentum they glided into the pier. To the right was a massive and degraded aircraft carrier. The port holes seemed to eject rust down the side of the ship and sheets of metal were peeling from the sides, but the grounded vessel was in one piece.<p>

Waters directed his eyes to the front, and began to make the outline of the peer. There was no sound save for a few birds and the rush of the water as the boat sailed alongside the peer.  
>Waters signalled his men to disembark from the craft, which they did in total silence. His second in command came up to him and, without talking, Waters mimed his orders to the sergeant.<p>

The team set up in their positions without word; the only sound made was creaking wood under footsteps.

Waters signalled for the craft to depart, which it did by a small, quiet electric motor.

For the first time in years, Waters found himself genuinely disturbed by the atmosphere; the dense fog, the ash that floated through the air and the deadly silence. He began to shoulder his rifle and scan the fog for any movement.

From behind them, Waters could hear another craft approaching the pier. The craft silently slid into place, as had the previous one, but for all of Waters' careful movements and hand signals, Walsingham, grunting as he was more or less lifted onto the pier, put paid to any stealth.

The man had no considerations for the tactical implications of sound pollution, and openly grumbled about his seat being wet and expressed his desire for new underpants.

Waters cringed at the sounds. He looked behind him to see the general staff all assembled: James, Walsingham and Raleigh.

James was part of the official delegation, as was Waters, but Waters was a soldier foremost; James, a doctor.

Tense and silent moments passed; Waters team steadfast and ready, Walsingham impatient at standing waiting for a 'nobody'.

Waters gave Raleigh a look as if to say "What now?" after twenty minutes of waiting had passed.

"My wife is expected to land later, shall I set the table here or can we be expected to be graced by their appearance?" Walsingham impatiently scorned.

Raleigh did not react to him, instead looking at her watch for a lengthy period of time before quickly adjusting her dress and, without word, walked into the silence, her shoes tapping loudly on the wood with each step.

Waters watched her silhouette disappear into the fog, glancing back to James, who replied with confused look as he shrugged his shoulders, still stood painfully to attention. The tapping of Raleigh's shoes grew quieter and disappeared within a minute.

There was another bout of extreme silence, enough to shut even Walsingham's endless complaints up. The air around the group swirled violently, suddenly agitated by something; the atmosphere compressed, bearing down on each of the team, apparently testing their resolve. The fog danced around the rifles of Waters team, teasing them to shoot at shadows and figments, seemingly trying to strangle the unfamiliar foreigners.

But before them, shadows did appear; four of them. At first they were barely noticeable, appearing to be the figments from the fog; but it became clear that they were not some imagery shape. From the silence came the sound of leather gloves tightening round the grips of rifles as Water's team braced themselves, defying any fearful thoughts.

"Steady gents." Waters whisperingly reassured.

The shadows grew in contrast and definition, approaching the end of the peer. From the eerie silence once more came Raleigh's shoes; tapping on the floor with a comforting familiarity.

The strangling air relinquished its hold over the delegation, as everyone breathed deep. But the fog shadowed more steps, alongside that of Raleigh's; however the feeling which came over everyone was more of curiosity than tension.

Raleigh stepped forth from the fog, with slight smile. She indicated for Walsingham to walk towards her and the three other cloaked individuals.

James, Walsingham and Waters walked towards Raleigh, who gave a quick nod to them all, before walking with them.

Together, they walked towards the unknown figures. Slowly the fog around them diminished, showing the faces of the unknown men. James squinted to make out the features of the man in the centre of the trio. He was tall, wearing something akin to a cloak and had a well groomed beard. The man looked an ambiguous age. He could have been thirty, he could have been fifty; no one could be sure; the stress marks and fractures gave his face an undatable ,weathered look, helped not least by his snow white hair. He however had an oddly friendly air to him, despite from the apparent seriousness that had scolded his face over time, betrayed by a smile on his face that looked genuine and almost exited for the moment.

To that man's right was another figure, this time dressed in a robe of scarlet red. The man's figure was slim, not really hiding anything of a physique. The robed man looked serious, cautious, as if expecting disappointment. This man struck James as a man who is excited by little and impressed by less. To James, a slumping posture indicated this was not a man of leadership.

To James' right was a man who was instantly recognisable by his equipment. He stood neck to toe in a vast armoured suit, fabricated from metal and an awesome sight. He held a helmet under his arm and an antiquated laser rifle in his hand. The man was terrifying merely from his amour. But again, the man was betrayed by a wide, welcoming smile. This man was identifiable as Waters' counterpart.

Raleigh stopped a few paces short of the opposing trio and stood to the side and all six men faced each other in effectively two ranks. Walsingham was in the centre, facing the cloaked man. He thrust his hand forward quickly and shook the cloaked figures hand firmly.

"I am the Duke Of Suffolk, Sir Francis Walsingham. How do you do." He announced equally firmly.

The man broke another smile before shaking back, placing another hand on top of Walsingham's'.

"I am Owen Lyons, Elder of Capital Wasteland Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

"Quite so," Walsingham somewhat unenthusiastically replied. "There was considerable planning in this mission and I am glad the effort has paid off."

Lyons turned to the men on his flanks and introduced them. "This is my head scribe, Reginald Rothchild. He is head of scientific research within our community."

James reached his hand out, being adjacent to Rothchild already and was coldly received by Rothchild, who was quite clearly uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. James understood the man's apprehension, after all the delegation was effectively an alien meeting to everyone, more so to them.

"And this," Lyons Gestured, "Is my head Paladin, Valerian Atkinson. He is in command of security and militaristic operations."

Waters reached out and shook the man's hand vigorously, having found his counterpart.

Walsingham nodded silently, trying to remember the men's names. He gestured, rather rudely, to James.

"This is the Duke of Coldstream, Sir James Wellesley, my head of scientific research and our instrument for the betterment of our people. And this is Captain Waters, my instrument of death. He and his team will accompany you on any missions where you might expect difficulties, Mr Atkinson; his team is the most proficient in my governments kingdom."

"I am delighted to have met you all, more than anyone else I dare say." Lyons smiled. "Now, it is not advisable to spend too long outside, we must depart for our base of operations. Captain Waters, please gather your team and we shall leave forthwith." He said with his deep voice.

"We cannot leave just yet; my wife shall be arriving momentarily." Walsingham defied.

Elder Lyons looked uneasily at Atkinson, sighed a little and returned to face Walsingham.

"Very well, but it is a matter of the utmost urgency that we expedite our departure. I shall say nothing now but later we shall discuss why staying for a moment more is quite possibly a grave mistake."

"She will only be a moment." Walsingham asserted before walking back down the pier.

Waters went with him to gather his team of soldiers. While they hadn't seen the opposing delegation they had heard everything and were intrigued to meet the men. However they were taken slightly in shock of the sight of the man in power armour. Regardless, they set up their positions further up and began scanning through the fog for any threats, carefully using cover to protect themselves and their field of arcs.

Waters walked over to Paladin Atkinson with a mind to ask about the situation, of which he still knew nothing about.

"Paladin Atkinson, Elder Lyons refers to a threat which enforces our prompt departure. Could you please tell me about this threat? I could use all the information I could get and I would be much indebted to you." He requested politely.

The paladin gave something of a serious look to the captain, almost envious that he had never encountered the threat before.

"There's … they're." the paladin stumbled on his words, thinking hard how to describe them. "Out there, there are some… mutated people. Very mutated. They stand twice as tall as me and their arms are as thick as your body. They are green, with decaying flesh and no lips. Reports have it that they actually rip their lips off. They are barbaric. They kill everything for no reason, probably because they're dumb as they come. I've seen one try to walk into a wall for twenty minutes before I put him out of his misery. They're dumb, yeah, but they can shoot rifles and throw grenades, and they know how to fight, and when the ammo's all spent, well they'll just walk right up to you an' rip you in half. Why? Cos they can."

Waters gave an almost unbelieving look. Pre-war America was dabbling in gene splicing, but his government had no reports on any success. These men Atkinson was describing sounded terrifying, and Waters could now understand what warranted Atkinson's suit of armour.

"And these mutated men, can they talk?" Waters inquired.

"Well they can say kill. Four letter prose is outta the question though. They scream a lot, nothing understandable but it's always fun to think they secretly go home and start writing poems for their disfigured loved ones." He chuckled.

"I'm sure their significant others would prefer I head, wouldn't you? Thank you very much Paladin."

"No problem Captain, but only those who can fight survive out here. And if that wife of The Duke of Suffolk's is as effeminate as he is, well she might just take us all with her. Don't worry though, we shall meet the muties soon enough!" he shouted as he began walking away to what Waters assumed was a brotherhood team of their own.

Waters nodded in silence. He worried not so much about the thought of encountering one of these mutants, but why Atkinson was so protected; his men carried no body armour of any description. Their principle weapon being skill and tactics, but the Brotherhoods was quite clearly shock and awe. Waters thought for a few moments more, before coming to the conclusion that the best man shall perform on the battle field.

James had been talking to a rather unresponsive Scribe Rothchild about the scientific capabilities of the Brotherhood. James was eager to start his work with the Brotherhood, but he did not know how far advanced the Brotherhood were or even what they knew about the world.

"Look," Rothchild snapped. "I don't do experimental or field research. I catalogue everything into our database and oversee what goes on. I don't pry into everything, I have no need to. Your counterpart is currently away on duties but will be back tomorrow; so please, wait for her then but I cannot answer your questions." The Scribe said agitatedly.

"Is that so? I wasn't aware I was attached to anyone but you. Well I look forward to meeting her." James said, trying to appeal to the scribe's kinder side. James was rebuffed and Rothchild walked away in the direction Atkinson had gone.

"Don't mind him. He is under a lot of pressure. I ask too much from him sometimes, but I know he can handle it." Came a voice from behind James. It was Elder Lyons looking sympathetically to him, knowing that Rothchild can come off as rude. "He has a short temper but I heart of gold. There is no one finer for his job." He grinned.

"There is no offense taken, I understand. I was wondering though, who is my associate?" James inquired.

"Her name is Catherine and she is exited to meet you. I am told your speciality is in organic engineering?"

"Well I served as a medical officer for a few years before being attached to this expedition so I'm a fully qualified doctor and surgeon, but recently I've been looking how organic matter reacts to sustained radiation from a cellular level and chemical analysis on various topics." He replied.

The Elder smiled once more. "You are going to be a great asset here Wellesley, I am sure of it. Catherine has been researching ways to remove pollution from water to make the Potomac a viable watercourse again. This endeavour of hers is noble, yes, but we are limited by our knowledge, but with you, I hope much can be achieved."

"I'm looking forward to getting started." James admitted.

From the pier came the sound of the motor boat engines pulling in. Walsingham could be seen helping his wife off the boat and escorting her up the wooden walk way. Waters ran down to collect the last of the kit to be delivered with a couple of his team.

Raleigh, who had been silent up to this point, walked up to the Elder.

"Elder Lyons, everyone is accounted for, we can leave at your leisure."

"Thank you Miss Raleigh. I will talk to my men and we shall leave in a moment." He said before walking off to speak with his Paladin.

James could hear the sounds of Lady Elizabeth getting her dress dirty and complaining in rather an unscrupulous tone. She was a small woman, nearly in her sixties like Walsingham, and every bit as stuck up and self-concerned. She always wore the most ridiculous clothing, always with a boa scarf and impractically high heels. She walked past James without so much as a courteous nod, demanding one of Waters team carry her baggage.

"Captain, I must insist one of your men carry my cases, it is simply not fitting for a woman of my standing to do physical labour such as that. I'd be most displeased if my heels were to be cracked and I simply must refuse to offer assistance."

"I will handle your luggage ma'am." He politely offered. He walked back past James, giving him an annoyed look and whispering in a vehement tone "She will not denigrate my men to such a level."

James laughed quietly to the sight of Waters uncomfortably slinging his rifle across his back whist carrying brown leather cases with pink dots. Certainly not dignified, but his men appreciated that he had not made them do such an embarrassing act.

Atkinson returned with some more of his armour clad men and together the group set off. The soldiers of Waters team began advancing swiftly up the road, checking corners and roof tops of the destroyed buildings for any threats. By now the stories of the 'green mutated men' had spread and Waters team were quite clearly on edge. The brotherhood members instead walked purposefully in the centre of the road, keeping look out as the nimble British ran alongside them. 

* * *

><p>There was much to be seen in the destroyed town, remnants of cars, bombed out buildings and the dusty skeletons by the side of the road. James wondered why his government had sent him here at all. The ash filled crater of the Atomic Wasteland was hardly an area for scientific research or development. James however was beginning to see the life under the death. He saw local scavengers walking through the town, picking at buildings or walking with mutated cows.<p>

"They are perhaps our finest addition to this land." Lyons voiced over James' obvious thoughts of the cows. "They are called Brahmin, we use them to transport goods and trade around the wasteland. It's an ongoing effort to re-establish these peoples, and the Brotherhood offers the locals the means to support themselves; to bring themselves back to civilisation."

"Where did you find the Brahmin?" James asked.

"They came with us from our original base. We were part of an expedition ourselves, to assess the damage of the Capital and investigate the super mutant threat. We were never supposed to inhabit these lands, but compassion compromised my mission. I could not simply walk away from these people as the Super Mutant hoards began to invade the land. The mission was destined to be an assessment and leave, but I had this chapter set up at the Citadel as a more permanent base of operations. We've been launching patrols from here for nearly a year now. "

"So you've moved into a humanitarian phase?" James advanced.

"In a way, yes. Unfortunately we do not possess the resources for aid, shelter or water, but we patrol these lands, searching out and destroying the Super Mutants who would otherwise eradicate the population before moving on. We occupy them so as to allow the rest of the wasteland to progress unimpeded."

"Have you made any progress against the Mutants?" James asked, becoming more and more involved with the land as the minutes went on.

"The wasteland is a strange place. We use all of our capabilities just surviving. We know that mere slaughter of the Mutants will do nothing to close margin of numbers they have over us. We are playing a waiting game effectively. There are simply not enough soldiers to protect the wasteland and find the mutants logistical sources. Our science department is trying to find advances with the population on food sources, water and general survivability but I have been largely abandoned by my superiors; they see my mission as a futile waste of men we cannot afford, and thus far they are correct, except we have saved far more than we have lost. Sometimes figures are too black and white. We lack the resources to do anything of effect, but I know we have brought change to these lands, and the locals appreciate it. We need assistance if our mission is to be successful, however. " The elder lamented.

James was absorbing the information quietly, he was a compassionate man, clearly as was Lyons, and he sympathised with him over his difficult position. James began to think of the benefit he could bring this land, of the success he could bring the Brotherhood's mission and scientific research.

"Catherine should be here tomorrow, and I'm sure you two will get along very well. She is such a caring person. You can see how personally she takes defeats; she's been working on a water project for months now, you can see her passion but the success is not forthcoming. But I am sure you two can talk about all this tomorrow. Right now we have to return to our headquarters and show you where you shall be living for the next month."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Elder Lyons, it is much appreciated."

"Think nothing of it. Do you have the time?" Lyons asked.

"Of course," James answered as he pulled out his pocket watch. "Quarter past four."

"It's nearly time for Sarah's feeding." Lyons muttered.

"Who sorry?" James questioned.

Lyons smiled to himself warmly. "She is my daughter; she is only a few months old."

James was taken by surprise, he had considered his evaluation of the Elder to be somewhat accurate, but he had never expected him to be a father to anyone other than his troops

"I'm sure her mother can handle it herself."

Lyons' face changed rapidly from happy to a lamentable sadness, his eyes swung to the floor and his whole body almost slumped with sadness. "Her mother died on the expedition out here. We were attacked on a mountain side by a tribe of raiders." He disclosed solemnly. "There was an explosion and she was thrown off the edge into a ravine. We tried to go after her but she was never found. My only consolation being that Sarah was with me at the time, and not with her mother. But so is the way of this world. No matter."

"circumstances beyond our control." James articulated.

"What a curious saying. "Lyons remarked.

"It's an old family saying. It's been with my family for centuries."

"I am inclined to like it, poetic almost."

James smiled, too modest to make any fuss over his family.

Waters shouted "Bugger" as he dropped one of the suitcases in front of them, spilling the contents out over the road. The large laced nickers of Lady Elizabeth poured all over the road, leaving an embarrassed Waters scrambling to pick them up.

"Make sure you pick up my corset! It's French!" shouted Lady Elizabeth from further up the column of people.

Waters continued murmuring in hatred for the Duke and Duchess and James ran over to help.

Lyons had walked over to the pair and decided to lend a hand himself.

"Not far now gentlemen." Lyons indicated, pointing at a large black building in the close distance. The walls of the wide black building were full of bullet holes and the windows so well fortified with sandbags it looked like a castle. James knew from speaking to the elder that this was the "Citadel"; the HQ for the Brotherhood forces. James and Waters gathered the garments quickly and ran to the rest of the men. Lyons walked up to a small speaker in front of a giant thick red gate. He spoke a code through the intercom and a terrible screeching sound ripped through the air as the great door lifted up on a crane, revealing a complex of training grounds and equipment sorting areas.

"This is our HQ, founded upon the former pentagon of the American military. We have repurposed it as our base of operations for the Brotherhood here. "The elder proudly enounced.

Two more soldiers walked up to the Elder and spoke in private for a brief moment before the Elder turned to the delegation.

"Here are my third in commands, Paladin Cross and Paladin Casdin." He motioned to a black woman in her thirties and a young man in his twenties, both looked battle hardened and fearsome. Casdin however gave them all a distasteful look, eying over each man of the delegation. He spat to the ground and walked away.

Paladin Cross however knelt to one knee and honoured them by saying "Steel be with you."

Waters and James filed through the gates with the luggage and placed it down in a pile at the Elders request. The elder showed them the rest compound inside and out over the course of a few hours and invited all of the principle characters of the delegation to his study to discuss the status quo whilst Waters men trained outside competitively with the Brotherhood soldiers.

He sat at the head of the table as the delegation took their places. With the Elder were Atkinson and Rothchild, gone were the smiling faces and cheerful hopes, now it was time to decide what each man in the team was going to do, a hard discussion for conflicting interests.

Elder Lyons began the discussion. "Welcome everyone, I shall start with The Duke of Coldstream's position, Suffolk, you tell me he is to take radiation reading from around the city and study cellular activity, fortunately it has occurred that his counterpart has that information already, we will offer you that information if James helps our scientists with their research. I've already spoken to James about this and I'm sure everyone will agree this decision is an easy one we need no longer tarry about this." Lyons concluded.

James looked to Walsingham to gauge his reaction, and expecting a nod of agreement he got a scornful scowl.

"While I see the benefit to all parties," Walsingham interjected. "I would like to remind my staff decisions of this magnitude are not to be assigned personally, and all decisions are to go through me." Walsingham evisceratingly spat.

Waters looked at James in a sympathetic manner, knowing that Walsingham was overstepping his mark. James sank into his chair slightly; keen to avoid the wroth of Walsingham again.

This time Atkinson sat up in his chair, intent on making his argument. "I think Waters and his group should come along with my team into an investigative patrol into the centre, near the Capitol Buildings, we have no intel from there and it would be good to see what the mutants are up to." He suggested.

"No." Walsingham emphatically replied. "He is to stay here and guard me and my staff."

Waters decided to chime in; knowing the dismay of Walsingham was at hand. "Your Grace, my team and I need to acclimatise to the surroundings, and there is no better way that a patrol with experienced fighters. I would be much indebted to you if you could permit me to accompany Paladin Atkinson; it is of vital importance for the rest of the mission that my men gain the necessary experience." Waters tried brokering his argument diplomatically but he could see it was all for nought as Walsingham looked set to explode.

"It's settled, I'm sure the Paladin's forces are more than capable of defending this settlement. Waters, you may accompany Atkinson." Raleigh surprisingly settled. She knew she controlled the deciding factor in these negotiations; technically she was superior to Walsingham and could override his decisions though superiority. She decided she was keen to make strong ties with the Brotherhood and a battle could potentially forge a strong alliance, and she wasn't about to let Walsingham compromise anything for the status quo.

The talks continued for several hours more until all matters had been successfully resolved. Walsingham during this time was remarkably quiet, only talking when being spoken to; a far cry from the screaming objectionable man that he was not four hours ago.

"It's settled then. I am sure we can settle any more diplomatic correspondence here tomorrow between the remaining parties. But I am also sure you have had a long journey and could use the rest, so please, retire to your quarters, there is still much to do and I require each of you to be in a good condition. Goodnight and steel be with you all." Elder Lyons closed and everyone filed from the room.

James and Waters met up outside of the room and walked together into the courtyard, keeping silent until they were adamant they were out of earshot.

"What do you make of all of this?" James asked.

"I couldn't possibly say, I have never seen the Brotherhood in battle. But from what I have seen, they look powerful, organised, capable. Not the type of people to object to any programme in Canada. The Chapters seem locally orientated, but the higher ups could have a nationwide approach. Even so, this Chapter is isolated from the system; any effect here would be meaningless. But then again, I doubt we've been told anything of significance."

"I for one am anxious to begin my research, and knowing you, you're looking for a scrape." James predicted.

Waters laughed a little. "I am to be honest. It's been too long. Plus I've got a crack team so I'm looking forward to some firefights. There's nothing quite like to be shot at without result." Waters said, thinking of his past experiences.

James stood up and yawned. "Well ask and you shall receive. I'm sure those mutants will pose a challenge for your warmongerous side. Until then though, I am off to sleep. A bed on dryland… can you ever remember a concept that felt so foreign as that after being on the ocean for so long?" he laughed.

Waters also stood up and looked after his watch. "Maybe I won't be thrown out of my bed by some wave or other now. Get some sleep sir; we've got a long stay here. God knows what we will encounter. But you're going to encounter a woman… so you need all the beauty sleep you can get." He said as he walked off into the door way.  
>James went the other way, wondering who this Catherine was, and if her research was any good. He had the ominous feeling that it would be unfortunately laughable, and what a disastrous state of affairs it would be for him to denounce her work. But then again, professionalism rarely has happy moments.<p> 


	8. Beyond Our Control

"Why didn't you act sooner?"

"I hadn't realised you shot him in the gut."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"You shot him in the gut." Arthur repeated.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"His outlook is decidedly bleak." Arthur admitted gravely.

Simms ran through the open ground of Megaton carrying a very limp Burke in his arms. Arthur ran beside him and Amata slightly behind, carrying Arthur's bag and too squeamish to look at the hole Simms has left in Burke. Simms by now was covered in Burke's blood and sick. They ran past the now defunct bomb and up a ramp into the town clinic.

Arthur burst through the door followed shortly by Simms and Amata. The sudden arrival of the group startled the doctor, known as Doc Church. He looked, for a moment from the top of his magazine, annoyed that someone had interrupted him whilst reading, but as soon as he saw Burke in Simms arms his tempertment instantly cooled his anger, anxious as he was to help the injured stranger.

"What's happened to him?" he demanded.

"Shot in the gut. Anythin' you can do for him?" Simms asked quickly.

"Bring him through." Church said as he motioned for Simms to follow.

Church had Simms place Burke on a dilapidated surgeon's bed and began examining Burke's vital signs. Arthur pushed his way through to the bed and began to examine the wound in Burke's stomach.

"Out of the way kid, stop bothering me." Church asserted.

"I'm a doctor, I can help." Arthur calmly replied as he continued to look at the entry wound. "Simms, I have to request you leave, the air is stale and no enough to perform this surgery." He implored.

"I'll be outside." Simms said as he turned and left.

"Amata, I'm apprehensive that as soon as the extraction of this bullet occurs, he will go into a sort of shock. He will scream and kick, but you must hold him down. His life depends upon it." Arthur gave Amata a comforting look, but tinged with concern. "Before that, there is a bottle of vodka in my bag, retrieve it to me."

Amata took off Arthur's bag and opened the main pocket. She moved aside the meals they had stored for their escape and rooted to the bottom before pulling out a clear bottle full of alcohol. She handed it to Arthur who thanked her and motioned for her to hold Burke down to the bed.

Church had collected several surgical instruments around the table and was cleaning a scalpel with a tissue soaked in some alcoholic solution, though Arthur doubted the effectiveness of the cleaning, he knew that needs must, both of the doctors quickly submerged their hands within the solution in an attempt at sterilising them. Arthur began pouring the vodka into and around the wound. Burke's body contorted with pain, taking Amata by surprise. She grappled with Burke's hands as his head thrashed around on the operating table. His teeth wrenched shut and his face turned deep red with pain. Amata was terrified by the events and began to panic slightly. The events reminded her too much of the execution she witnessed in the vault. Church and Arthur were by now already searching the cavity for the bullet, painfully pushing Burke's innards around , adding only to the immense discomfort of a hardly conscience Burke.

The pair of doctors had found the bullet, and Arthur was in the process of removing it when Burke's body went into shock. Amata looked pale as she watched Burke shake uncontrollably on the table as the man lost control of his body. Arthur continued with the extraction of the bullet as Church set up the relevant equipment to control Burke's blood loss. Arthur removed the bullet with one final exertion and with the removal of the bullet came a vast amount of blood. Burke's blood flowed from body and began cascading down the bed. Arthur could do little but throw cloth after cloth at the event in an attempt to absorb the blood.

Burke had by this time been stabilised by Church and his spasms had slowed to a great extent. Amata had begun to wipe the blood away from the wound as Arthur tried to control the internal bleeding. The blood however had a sudden hiatus upon its own accord. Arthur recoiled slightly, staring deeply concerned into the wound.

"This is one's going to require carful hands." Arthur whispered to himself. He continued to search inside the wound and began visibly sweating on his forehead.

Amata stood helpless as she witnessed Burke's eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, void of any motion. Church was frantically checking his pulse around his neck. He turned to look solemnly at Arthur, who stopped his work and looked at the ground in disgust of his failure.

Burke had died from extreme blood loss and cardiac shock.

Arthur stood back from the body, visually distressed at the sudden turn of events. Arthur knew that Burke's chances were slim, but he had hoped for some grace by his own actions.

Amata looked shocked by the ordeal, and Arthur knew she was deeply upset. He walked over to her pulled her close into his shoulder, taking care not to touch her with his hands, lest Burke's blood cover her.

"You win some, you lose some. This one's down to luck kid. You did what you could. Go on, I'll deal with the body." Church offered.

Arthur nodded and the pair walked from the room and out into the cold night.

Simms was lent against a railing smoking when he saw the pair emerge from the clinic, he stood up, threw his cigarette away and walked over to them. He knew from their faces that they had failed. That fact did not surprise him, he knew that anyone with a bullet in them was more than likely to die; what surprised him the most was how personally the pair had taken the death of someone who had tried to kill one of them.

"Don't take it too hard kid, he was going to kill you. Not like he would have done the same." He offered sympathetically

"Perhaps not, but that's irrelevant." He remarked.

Simms could see that Arthur was distressed by the events, and Amata looked equally upset. They didn't look as if to cry, but they did look disappointed and saddened, as if they had lost somehow.

"Kid, why you taking this so hard? You did more than anyone of us would." Simms quite unceremoniously questioned.

"To do nothing was disgraceful; therefore I made use of my understanding." Arthur stated, shouldering his bag as he spoke.

Simms nodded silently, clearly the pair in front of him had some strange morals to them both. Why else would they have tried to save Burke?

"Can we go to our… house?" Amata asked, finding it strange to call somewhere they had never even seen before their house.

"Absolutely." Arthur replied. "Simms, we are going to retire for the night. I should expect that we be in Megaton for some while. I shall speak with you tomorrow; goodnight."

"Yeah, that's fine with me. You two get some rest now ya hear, you done enough good around here." He said, examining the cuts on Arthurs face as a result of his altercation. As the pair departed he turned around and began walking back to his house in the blackness of night. "Strangest god damn people I ever met." He exclaimed to himself as he vanished into the darkness.

The pair stood at the base of their new house. They looked at the structure, concerned for their lives if they were to consider sleeping within it.

"I'd rather take my chances inside the bomb…"Amata half joked.

The building spurred out of the ground on stilts, hanging precariously over a sudden drop. The building itself was little more than a shack conglomerated from separate pieces of corrugated metal which had rusted into a deep brown colour and many ad hoc adjustments had been made. A planning permission nightmare, the building looked dangerous and ancient.

Amata looked around the crater of Megaton and notice that all the other buildings were in a similar state of disrepair; many moving whenever the wind struck them.

"I honestly don't believe that it's safe, Arthur." She warned as Arthur placed the key in the lock.

"I'm afraid we have no other options to turn to. We will have to endure this hardship; perhaps you could begin some repairs upon the structure when we have the time. But as of right now, sleep is the greater concern." He said, pushing the door open.

The inside of the building was black, the air musty but not nearly so bad as the building they had camped in the night before. Amata switched on her Pipboy light to illuminate the interior building. She revealed a slightly dusty, but relatively clean floor, with the state of interior being far greater than the exterior. The pair wandered through their new home and began admiring the creature comforts which adorned the house: small coffee tables, wardrobes and even a large double bed, browned it age, but comfortable nonetheless.

Overcome with gratitude for the sheriff they continued into the building, discovering a toilet with working pluming and even a sink. Arthur hurried over and began to thoroughly wash his hands, eager to remove the blood which had already dried upon his skin.

"I didn't think it would be this nice." Amata shouted to Arthur from the top floor.

"Quite so." Arthur trailed off, looking at the shelves of basic food. He took his bag from his back and began shelving the food and water in accordance with the foodstuff already set out in front of him.

Amata found the double bed and could not resist the urge to jump upon it. She bounced as the worn springs of the mattress groaned erroneously under the force of her impact. The bed was a far cry from the well maintained and comfortable mattresses in the Vault; but she knew the only alternative to a worn bed was the floor Notwithstanding her usually high standards of cleanliness, the building was much to her liking. The brown rusted walls and decaying furniture were all superficial damages, something she knew she could clean with abbraxo.

Amata began inspecting the roof, checking for any possible leaks or damage she deemed worthy of repairing. She found no such damage but thought it best to improve the roof as soon as possible.

Arthur had walked up the stairs by now and was looking at the bed. Amata was sat on top of the mattress, smiling contently at him. The building was still black, owing to the lack of light and their Pipboy's were the only light source they had. Arthur went and sat beside Amata on the bed, with his back to the wall and her by his side. Amata shuffled over to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Stressed; it's been a long day."

"Quite so. However, we have made a lot of progress, and we should be foolish to move from this location. Through our actions it looks certain that we will be accepted into the community. We should try earning some money to sustain ourselves and begin asking around the town tomorrow for my father. I intend on asking the bar keep if he knows anything."

Amata sat up and looked at Arthur in a serious fashion. "Did you ever think we would be here?"

"Certainly not." Arthur replied.

"We had our whole lives planned out in front of us. We had good positions and we were set to become powerful people in the vault. I just can't get my head around the fact that we just walked off like that…"

"We had no choice in the matter. The circumstances were beyond our control. Your father would not listen to reason and I am convinced his actions were neither logical or for the benefit of the vault. If we had stayed the punishment of Jonas is what would have waited for us. Do not regret what happened, for such emotions do nothing but hinder ourselves, accept what is. We can do much here, and once we find my father we can decide what is to happen next. Regret should not enter into the discussion, it will do nothing to reconcile the events which have lead us here." Arthur stressed.

"I know, but I wish it had turned out differently. I wish we weren't blamed for what happened. I can't stand the thought of everyone in that vault using our name in hatred when we did nothing."

Arthur was inclined to agree, but he needed to bring Amata back to the world they were in now, because he knew that she was struggling to adapt to this world. He knew she hated how everything was broken and the people malnourished, how their kind deeds were looked upon with suspicion.

"That should be a matter of indifference. It is nature to blame someone in accordance with your troubles, and we have been chosen. We can do nothing about it now. We have been up since early this morning and the day has been stressful for both of us; we should get some sleep." He suggested.

Amata nodded and lay down and switched her Pipboy off, as did Arthur. She lay there for some time recounting the day, drawing parallels with Burke's death and Floyd's; regretting having to leave the vault with Arthur, but not necessarily leaving with him. Her mind ticked over many different things as she slowly came to terms with her situation, generally agreeing with Arthur that there is little that could be done for the vault. She just wished the world was not as bleak as it seemed to her. But in the end her heavy eyes closed and she fell into sleep just had Arthur had.

Amata woke from her sleep. She was cold and uncomfortable in the bed that had last night seemed so appealing. Arthur was beside her in bed frowning deeply at the ceiling.

"I've never been so distressed by the loss of any one man. How peculiar it is to find such melancholic emotions from what some would deem a success. His actions were his own but it is with great difficulty that I should do nothing. Inaction, I feel, would be to detriment more so to the morality of my myself than any foe." He lamented.

Amata was surprised at this sudden, genuine emotional speech Arthur was giving. She turned to face him properly but he continued to lay on his back looking at the ceiling.

"I thought you said not to regret what has happened?" she questioned, confused by Arthur's apparent reversal.

"Regret is not a consideration. I have no regrets from last night, I acted as I ought to have acted. His death was unfortunate but not as a result of myself. I do however perceive great difficulties that are to inevitably arise from who we fundamentally are. I fear that this world will not afford us to continue in an unaltered state as we are now. For such dangerous activities as we are most likely to undertake, the errors which proceed from benevolence will be the worst."

Amata was beginning to become worried about Arthurs words. Clearly he had been thinking much through the events of the day and they were still playing deeply on his mind.

"What morality can one find in a world where gracious actions are met solely be suspicion and not by any veritable emotion other than distrust. How can we be ourselves, helping at every turn to a population that does not carry the values that we do. What worries me is our exertions will be met coldly when we are in such a plight as we require their services. We cannot save every shot man, we must let them die so we can live; lest we die ourselves. We can ill afford any mistakes, and to continue as we are will do nothing but compound the danger we find ourselves placed in. Any situation is volatile enough to warrant self-considerations; any further efforts to save those around us would be unbeneficial to us both. This selfish mentality is most unbecoming, but I fear is as inevitable as our failure in this futility of a world. The vice is preservation over inaction. I cannot see these people suffer under my own want, but equally I cannot help. That is the true test of morality, I feel."

Amata thought through Arthurs words. He was in a sense right, people were not likely to give away help as they had, or else the bomb in the centre of the town would have been disarmed already. She thought of everything they had seen since they had arrived, recounting all her experiences the past few days. She thought about who they were, and again Arthur was right, they probably couldn't save everyone and they would place themselves into harm's way just attempting to help others, but Arthur was saying that it was do or die, there really was no third way, which she disagreed with.

"I don't think life is that bleak, we've only been here two days and already we've been given a free house, we have food and a friend in the town's mayor. You just are looking too wide at the picture. We are people who help, yeah I get that, but maybe by helping people as we go is how we will make this world a better place. You said it yourself, everything we do is met with suspicion, so what? That shouldn't stop us, we should be these civilised people who are gracious and kind; we are those people and maybe we don't have to change, and maybe death isn't as inevitable as you say. Maybe you're being too much of a misanthropist but I don't think everyone is that bad. Certainly I've not been shot at so far. Don't look at the negatives; look at what we can change, and what we can do to make this world better. Everyone dies so we might as well accept it, don't you think? And I'm damn not changing for anyone, so I guess it's all planned out; but as you said; so be it."

Arthur continued to look at the ceiling; little beams of light breaking through and illuminating small columns of dust that floated through the air like flies, bobbing lightly with the slightest movements. He thought of her words, and, maybe he was being too pessimistic, but he knew he believed his words; Change or Die. He did however find great comfort in her words, smiling slightly as he thought them through, comparing them to his own words.

"Ever the pragmatist, I see." He said, finally rolling over to face Amata.

"Quite so." She mocked before sitting up in bed. She stood up and walked downstairs to get a drink of water. Arthur, equally parched, followed behind her. They each took a bottle of water each and drank whilst they sat around a small round table.

"What are we to do for finance?" Arthur questioned.

Amata thought hard, the demand for money had only just occurred to her.

"Didn't Simms say something about a woman who would offer us jobs?"

"Moira, I believe her name was. We should speak to her; we haven't enough food to be complacent. I think it would be a good idea to ask her, or the barkeep on my father's location." He suggested.

"Well we need money either way. I'll finish off the pipes while you go and see about your father. Maybe Walter will give me some money for my work." She thought.

"Good idea. Perhaps the work we put into the town will be more beneficial for ourselves than money." He proposed.

Amata nodded and stood up from the table and motioned for Arthur. "We can go to the store first; we could use some things to make this more of a home."

Arthur stood up from the table and placed his now empty bottle of water on the side counter and proceeded to place several bottles of water in his bag, preparing for the day. Amata opened the door, ready for their departure into the now arid air outside. As Arthur was preparing his bag he came across the 10 mm pistol he had taken from the vault. Until now he had completely forgotten that this was in their position. There were spare rounds in the bottom of the bag and a spare, unloaded magazine. He decided not to remove it from his bag, considering it potentially useful in a dire situation. Arthur closed the bag and swung it over his shoulder, following Amata from the building into Megaton.

The pair began navigating the maze of stairs and walkways, trying to find Craterside supply. By sheer luck, after ten minutes of aimlessly wandering the streets, they came across the shack that was Craterside supply. Amata opened the door and walked inside the cramped store. Boxes of loose ends piled high against walls, shelves near collapse under the weight of the objects they held and a strange metallic smell which permeated the air. Leaning against one of the lesser crowded walls was a man, rifle slung across his back and watching menacingly Amata and Arthurs actions.

The door creaked as Amata had opened it, emanating a load crash in a room, hidden behind the wall the guard was leaning on.

"Just a second!" came a cry in the direction of general chaos. A few loud bangs later saw the arrival of a woman in a filthy jumpsuit, covered in oil, and accompanied by the smell of burnt hair.

She gasped at seeing the pair, who were by this time looking worried at their new acquaintance. Clearly esoteric, but more clumsy than brilliant, apparently.

"Hey… You're those strays from the vault! I haven't seen one of you for years!" she gawked. The pair had only just met this woman, but they were forming a very strong impression already. "Good to meet you!" she beamed. "I'm Moira Brown." She jovially introduced. "I run Craterside supply, but what I really do is mostly tinkering and research." She announced, clearly overexcited to have met anyone at all.

"Say!" she exploded once more. "It would be great to have a foreword by a pair of vault dwellers." She all but pleaded.

"Our association with the vault is not a consideration that you should involve yourself." Arthur warned defensively.

"If you say so," she parried with her unending spirit. "But if you really mean that you should stop walking around with a large number on the back." She advised, smiling jauntily as ever.

"Duly noted." Arthur replied shortly.

"You're not very talkative now are you?" she observed.

"I'd prefer to keep it that way, for all our sakes." He once again cautioned. Something about her unending happiness disturbed Arthur, as if she had no reason to be happy; he didn't have anything to be happy about, save for Amata, he felt.

"Get a look at Mr Cold over here!" she said, smiling and holding her hands out in front of her, as if being a lion. "I'll have to put that in my book." She thought out loud "Anyway, I guess I don't need a foreword. They just get in the way of the real content. But the book's going to be great. You just watch!"

Amata spoke up, sensing Arthurs rapidly depleting patience with such a volatile beam of sunray that she seemed to think she was. "We are looking for Arthur's father, have you seen him?"

Moira fell silent for a moment, recounting her joyous life. "It could be the man I saw at Moriarty's saloon not long ago. I'd ask there. I do remember him having one snazzy hat though!" she recalled

"Thank you. What's this book you're working on?" Amata asked, much to the dismay of Arthur who knew they were about to be roped in with some work that he had no time for.

"Well! It's a dangerous place out there in the wastes, right? People could really use a compilation of good advice; like a wasteland survival guide! For that, I need an assistant to test my theories. I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt because of a mistake, no bodies ever happy when that happens. No, "she drifted off," then they just yell a lot, at me; with mean mean words."

"That sounds like a great idea, I can't wait to help!" Amata volunteered.  
>Arthur could not stand idly by, biting his teeth while Amata entered them both into some contract. "You are aware that the information that must comprise this book is not only unknown to us, but, if it were ever to be produced, we would be the audience who would most benefit from reading it…" he argued, trying to present themselves as those not best suited to the task.<p>

"That's right…" Moira thought. "But, if it works for you guys, then it must work for anyone, am I right? All you have to do is not die, and I'll be there every step of the way; here, in Craterside." She once more enthusiastically beamed.

"It's settled then. We can help you." Amata smiled.

"Oh my, it's all coming together. Could you go down to the Super Duper Mart not that far away from here? I want to see if there any food left inside them. I know that they're used by raiders and what not, but I don't see that being an issue. Hurry back now, I can't wait to start!" she bellowed as Arthur and Amata walked through the door to the outside.

When the pair were outside Arthur about turned to Amata and gave her a disapproving look.

"That woman is repulsively talkative." He moaned

"Come on, she isn't that bad. It's nice to have met someone who isn't all doom and gloom."

"Incidentally," Arthur began. "Do you think it apt to embark upon such an operation as she proposes when we have but one pistol to our name, no substantial food, no knowledge of the land or any prohibitive measures if we were to fall into danger?"

"We can buy more guns, and we won't learn anything by staying in here. How else do you propose to find your father? Stay here and hope he shows up?"

"I do not wish for us to gallivant off into the wasteland, find ourselves woefully ill equipped and incapable of procuring any means for our protection, resulting in the rather unfortunate scenario where we perish in some pointless action that does not further our position and places you in danger. There are cheaper ways to gather money than sacrificing your life, I'll have you know." He reprimanded.

Amata sighed at him, knowing he was being too cautious. "Listen, you said it yourself, we live in a dangerous world now, but you can't protect against everything. What if the town is raided or something, you can't stop that. So you need to realise that to protect ourselves we must place ourselves in danger, or else we won't be able to adapt to this world. Could you be the doctor you are today by only reading about practitioning?"

"I will not let you prevail upon me to let us just wander the wasteland. We aren't 'wanderers' Amata; there is a goal, we should not unnecessarily place ourselves in anymore danger than we must."

"Arthur! You aren't listening." Amata by now was beginning to raise her voice, frustrated at Arthurs over cautious outlook. "Do you think we will find your father here? Because we haven't seen him yet so we have to go looking for him. You know as well as I that we need to explore, we need to do jobs for money and we need to talk to people, or else we are going to stay here forever. I don't want that, and I don't want to live of life of 'what could have been'."

Arthur looked almost defeated to Amata. "I cannot by my own actions allow you to be in harm's way. It's unacceptable and I would not be able to live with myself if anything was to happen. Clearly you are right, but I trust in that the certainty that something bad will happen; and I am keen to postpone the inevitable." He finally gave in.

"Nothing will happen, I promise. But you're right in that we don't have any weapons or anything. I've heard stories of raiders from around the town and I think we should buy some weapons as protection."

Arthur nodded. "As soon as we gather the means to buy them. You should speak with Walter and see if he is willing to give you any money for services rendered." He suggested.

Amata agreed and gave Arthur a quick kiss on the cheek before running off to try and locate Walter. As she ran along she was secretly pleased with herself that she had finally bested Arthur and beat his stubbornness. She knew he was being protective, but it was all to hinder any chance they had of finding James.

Arthur knew he was defeated and began a dejected walk to find the Sheriff in an attempt to procure more weaponry for themselves, reasoning that four hands were too many for one pistol. Arthur spotted the sheriff carrying a drunken lout home, absorbing a wave of abuse the drunk was hurling his way. Arthur ran down the steps and sloping levels of Megaton and hurried his way over to the Sheriff who was, by now, having a hard time containing the man.

"Thanks, kid." The sheriff acknowledged as Arthur grabbed the man by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. They began dragging the man to the communal housing area, where most of the inebriates recovered.

"Sheriff, I would be much obliged to you if you could spare myself and Amata a weapon. We may find ourselves in a situation where we fighting is a distinct possibility, and, being equipped as we are with only one pistol, we are woefully ill disposed for any reaction."

They let the drunk down at the base of the housing unit and left him to his duties as Arthur and Simms walked back the way they had came.

The sheriff thought for a second, thinking of what weapons he could lend to the pair. He had very rapidly began to like them both, keen to keep them around. Together, in a short space of time, they had done him and the town a great service.

"I have two old assault rifles that I don't really have a use for any more. I rarely get out of the town nowadays. You can have them; but they do need a bit of servicing." He warned.

"That is most generous, thank you. I have the honour of informing you that Amata has largely fixed the problems that had thus far been plaguing your water supply."

"Well that's mighty kind." He thanked once more.

"Please, think nothing of it. Sheriff, soon I intent to depart Megaton to search for my father. You have been most generous and hospitable and I would like to voice my most ardent appreciation for yourself and your town which has so kindly welcomed us."

"Don't mention it kid. Just watch yourself out there. It's a dangerous place and no offence, but you ain't the killing type." He warned.

"Perhaps that is more of an advantageous position than you think." Arthur positioned

"Perhaps not, kid. Because you'll learn quick if you've got the stones to do what's needed. I'll send the guns your way in a bit." He nodded as he walked off, ending their brief discussion. Arthur opted not to attempt to pursue the sheriff further, and instead it was perhaps a good use of his time to prepare for their expedition to the 'Super-Duper Mart' that Amata had so graciously signed themselves up to.

Amata was feeling rather pleased with herself. She had managed to locate a more than thankful Walter, who had parted one hundred caps for her services rendered. She walked along, caps jingling in her pocket, to try and find Arthur. She was keen to leave and explore the world, and having found a suitable area in which to live, she felt more confident about their chances, should something go wrong.

She walked back to her new house, still looking in fascination at the town and every little intricacy did much to entertain her curiosity. She arrived at the front of the house and could hear Arthur milling around inside. She opened the door to see him with two guns of the floor with a small stack of ammo next to it. He looked up at her and gave a quick smile before looking down at the rifles again.

"What's all this?" she asked, slightly confused how their front room had been turned into an armoury.

"Two assault rifles the Sheriff gifted to the two of us. I am trying to clean them out; filthy mess." He said as he picked one of the rifles from the floor. Amata could see they were ancient, the wooden furniture was cracked and the varnish which had once adorned them had faded to a flaky paint which still clung hopelessly to the stock. The metal looked damaged, worn and in need of throwing away.

"Do they still fire?" she questioned, hoping they didn't.

"They will do, but they are in a terrible state; but then again, they were free, perhaps it is to be expected." He thought out loud.

Amata sat down beside one of the rifles. She picked it up and began inspecting it with her hands and eyes. Turning it over, looking at the details from the Chinese engravings on the metal to the poorly aligned sights. She felt uncomfortable holding the rifle in her hands. She grimaced slightly from the memory of their last hours in the Vault. Arthur saw that Amata was thinking something distressful through and he endeavoured to preoccupy her with something more productive, to save her the consequences that invariably affect a person when they reflect too much on a certain event. Arthur slid back the bolt on Amata's rifle and motioned for her to peer into the bolt.

She snapped from her memory and looked inside, seeing what was, in general, a clean and shiny interior.

"I've cleaned the working parts and gas ones too. Each time we fire them they require stripping lest they become inoperable. Simms was kind enough to provide us with one hundred rounds for the expense of disarming the bomb. I am lead to believe we are no longer indebted for our actions; a suitable agreement I should think. As soon as circumstances permit, it would be in our interests to test ourselves with these rifles." He suggested.

"And when will 'circumstances permit'" Amata questioned jokingly, smiling at Arthur.

"After I have spoken to the bar keep at the saloon. Then, owing entirely to you, we should leave with an aim to searching the store. I imagine tomorrow would be the best day for such an activity."

Amata nodded silently, still looking at the rifle in her arms. Arthur snapped his back together, pushing the pins into the body to complete the assembly. Amata looked on, wondering how he had so quickly gained the ability to assemble a rifle.

"But that's a maybe. Did you see Walter? You were gone a while." He remarked.

"Yeah, I did. I had to finish one last pipe I couldn't get to last night; on an account of you having your face bashed in."

"No such thing occurred." Arthur defended.

"Sure…" She jested. "Anyway, he paid me one hundred caps, but I don't know what that can buy us."

"Not much, I would imagine. But thank you all the same. With that we can at least afford food." Arthur recognised.

He stood up and placed his rifle on the table before motioning Amata to hand hers to him. He placed her rifle beside that of his and he walked towards the door.

"I think it best we lessen the amount of food we eat of our own stores. We should go and eat at the 'Brass Lantern'. I'm told they serve the best food around.

Amata hadn't realised how hungry she was. She hadn't had breakfast or lunch, and much of the day was already gone, despite the little they had done.

"I'm paying then, am I?" She cocked

Arthur smiled a thin smile, looking at the floor he nodded. A simple "mmh hmm" came from him as he grandly swung his arm, gesturing to the door.

The pair arrived at the Brass Lantern, only to be met with an array of disgusting smells. The air was thick with the smell of putrid meat and greasy fat. Arthur looked decidedly uncomfortable with the whole ordeal, and Amata was on the verge of gagging at many points. Despite their less than pleasant experience of the place, several patrons sat around the bench, eating hungrily from dirty bowls and bent rods of metal.

"What a far cry…" Arthur lamented, referencing the relative grandeur of the vaults canteen.

Amata avoided his remark and sat at the bench, followed by Arthur. A woman walked over to serve them. She was covered in either dirt or dead something-or-other, Arthur nor Amata could not tell which. She didn't really smile as much as move her cheeks into an upwards position.

"What can I do you for?" She asked, more to Amata than Arthur.

Amata didn't know what to say. She couldn't see a menu, and she certainly couldn't recognise the food that everyone else was eating.

"I… I don't know. What have you got?" she asked uneasily.

"Well we've got the best selection around. We've got stew, kebabs, noodles; anything you would likely find."

"I will have the stew, please." She said, looking to Arthur for his order.

"I shall have the same." He said briskly.

"Alrighty. Twenty caps please." She requested.

Amata pulled out a handful of caps from her thigh pocket and quickly counted them out and handed them over. The waitress walked away and began to move pans and the like, presumably to procure the food, Amata thought.

"Expect little in the way of the culinary arts." Arthur said quietly.

"I'm so hungry, I don't really care. As long as its edible." She retorted, trying to be the more optimistic of the two.

The waitress came back and placed two bowls in front of the pair and a grubby fork for them each. She promptly walked away to serve another customer.

Arthur looked at his food in abhorrence. Amata prodded hers with her fork, trying to find any recognisable food.

"What do you think is even in this?" She questioned, again holding down the urge to throw up.

"Their last food poisoning victim, I would assume…" he cautioned, already regretting buying it in the first place.

Amata prodded a piece of meat with her fork, took a deep breath in, and placed it into her mount and began chewing harshly. Her face contorted with queasiness from the horrible food. Arthur looked on, unenvious of her decision. As Amata fought her food down, he tried to summon the stupidity to eat the food which was now in front of him. He breathed deeply and placed a piece of whatever into his mount. He too reacted in a disgusted way. He swallowed the food as urgently as he could without choking. Amata looked disturbed by the experience, and looked to Arthur as he managed to keep himself from throwing up.

"Good god; that's outrageous." He complained, still twisting his face with the taste of seasoned rubbish.

Amata wouldn't say, but she agreed. After one bite, she knew this meal was to defeat her. She pushed the bowl away from herself with disgust. Arthur followed suit, glancing away, trying to pass the memory of the food from his mind. A man sat beside Amata looked on curiously and hungrily at the food they had rejected.

"You gonna eat that missy?"

"Help yourself." She welcomed, pushing the food towards the man.

Amata then proceeded to stand up and steady herself with a breath before walking towards their house once more, shy of the day. Arthur stood up also and placed his bowl beside that of Amata's, which the man was now gorging himself on the free food.

"With compliments." Arthur said straight faced, before walking away.

He did a little jog to catch up with Amata, who was looking unwell. "One thing is for certain, it did satisfy my hunger." He quipped.

Amata would have laughed, had she not been victim of the food also. "Let's just go the saloon and be on our way."

Arthur had to agree. What had seemed as a generally pleasant area, now seemed to be grating on him. He longed for the civility of the vault, the cleanliness and the ease of life; though he wasn't one to complain; he would simply suffer in silence. The pair walked up the levels in the fading light to the rowdy saloon which was once again adorned in drunkards.

Amata looked aghast around the building, intimidated by the men who were all shouting and swearing; drinking their lives and regrets away. Amata then saw someone at the bar. His skin destroyed and rotten, his face red but clearly saddened. Amata braved herself and walked to the bar. Arthur followed suit behind her, silently remembering the day before.

"Excuse me." Amata coughed, attempting to attract the attention of the rotten man who was audibly bitching at a broken radio.

"What smooth-skin? Do you need something? A drink, maybe? Anything? Anything at all?" the man said with an aggravated tone.

"I was just wondering if we could at all speak to the owner of this saloon. If that's at all possible, that is." She spluttered, keenly aware of the decaying flesh of the man.

"You… you aren't going to hit me?" he questioned. "Not going to beat me, swear at me or demean me?" he quizzed.

Amata was horrified that anyone thought she was remotely capable of those wanton acts. "Goodness me, no I would never!" she defended quickly.

Arthur stood behind her, sensing she had been insulted.

"Whoa lady, sorry to annoy you. It's just most people do that here; I'm kind of used to it, you know, being a ghoul and all." The ghoul croaked.

Amata instantly took pity on the man, switching from insulted to empathetic within a heartbeat.

"That's so sad. I would never. I just want to find the owner so we can speak to him. I can't believe someone would do that to you."

Just at that moment a man from behind the bar pushed the ghoul from his way.

"Go on, ya rat basterd." He spat at the stumbling man. "I'm the owner of this 'ere fine establishment. What can I do you for?" He beamed at the pair or potential customers.

"Are you Colin Moriarty?" Amata asked.

"Yeah, it is. What's it to ya." He questioned, clearly getting on the defensive over something, as he crossed his arms and gave a near scowl to Amata.

"Hi, I'm Amata. I was wondering if you had seen a man. We need to find him and we were told you were the man to go to about this…" Amata

Moriarty gave a rendition of a cackle, clearly amused at something. "I'm glad word gets around. Now about my fee…" he positioned.

"A fee, we weren't told anything about a fee." Amata protested.

Moriarty smiled a more cynical smile at Amata, clearly revelling in her sudden shock. "No one told yeh? Eh? That's alright missy, don't you worry. It's a nominal fee of one hundred caps per piece information. You'll quickly find knowledge is the dearest thing round 'ere.

Amata was shocked. She was appealing for help in a genuine fashion, and the man had the audacity to make it into a profit scheme. Arthur was silently watching the conversation, not making himself know as he watched the conversation, stern faced and arms crossed. Many things crossed his mind in the ensuing conversation, as Amata tried to broker a better deal. Arthur knew the man's accent was Irish from the times his father had imitated it during his childhood; which lead him to the thought that his dialect was also different to that of the populous. Arthur began to think of the correlation between the two coincidences.

"You know my father." Arthur finally asserted, entering into the conversation abruptly. Moriarty suddenly looked Arthur up and down. He eyed Arthur for but a moment, and decided to ask a question he already knew the answer to.

"Who are ya? And why should I go out of my way to care one iota?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Arthur Wellesley." He replied replied.

Moriarty suddenly became very thin lipped and aggravated. She shifted about on his feet and clenched his fists tightly.

"You're lookin for your father, aintcha? Well, no body seen hide nor hair from him since he abandoned us. I hoped your father was dead, leaving me here like that. Well I hope for all our sakes he's dead, cos if he isn't I'll gladly arrange for his head to be duly kicked in." he eviscerated. "No, I don't know where he is, but last I heard he was headin down to the city. Probably torn in two by now." He laughed

Arthur stood in silence, watching the man in front of him continue with his rants. Arthur refused to be dragged into an argument there was no need for.

"What city?" he demanded.

"D.C., you dipshit. Go after him, try your luck." He offered.

Amata saw the two men violently stare each other out. Arthur, stern faced and thin lipped, staring at Moriarty with some degree of cool class, despite the confrontation; and Moriarty, growling slightly from behind bared teeth and cocked eyes. She had only just realised, but the entire saloon was quite, watching intently on the events transpiring before her.

"Arthur," she whispered. "We should go."

"I am much indebted, Mr Moriarty, but I must retire. Ado." Arthur nodded calmly before walking to the door which Amata had already held open, anticipating their departure.

When the pair had left and the silence was once more drowned out, Moriarty stood staring at the door, defying them to enter again.

"They were nice." Gob muttered silently to himself.

Moriarty spun on his heel, picked up a glass along the way and threw it at Gob, narrowly missing him as a fine shower of beer cascaded down the wall he was adjacent to.

"Nobody asked you to speak. Go and clean the bathroom you shite!" Moriarty yelled. This time no one turned around, accustomed to Moriarty's outbursts toward gob.

"What was that all about?" Amata asked, confused by the rapid escalation by Arthur's entry into the conversation.

"I honestly don't know; but last night, when at Burke's house, Burke told me I was not born in the vault; but instead in the outside world." He disclosed.

Amata scoffed at this. "Impossible, you know as well as I that we are born in the vault, and we die in the vault."

"So goes the propaganda, but one would observe propaganda is often fabricated."

"But why would your father enter the vault, just to leave again?" she questioned, trying to get a clearer picture.

"I don't know. His actions are as much of an enigma to me, as you. The only hope we have of answering these questions is by locating him, and asking him directly. Until such time it is an exercise in futility to speculate."

"Do you believe Burke?"

"I didn't, it must be said. However those events have done much to excite the serious prospect that he words are, in fact, true."

Amata nodded in agreement; though she thought how queer the entre situation was. Everything they had been brought to believe was a lie to a greater or lesser degree. The truth now seemed hidden from them and so well concealed that they stood no hope of identifying what was a lie or what was genuine.

"What now then?" She asked.

Arthur shook his head unknowingly. "If we pursue my father it is inevitable that we will be caught out by the wasteland, and should such a thing occur, our destruction should be relied upon. However, if our actions are too slow, we should lose this opportunity and my father will disappear; and then I fear our chances of finding him diminish into none existence."

Amata thought for a moment.

"Then we do nothing." Said finally after a few moments

Arthur gave her a strange, almost disbelieving look.

"And what advantage will that confer?" he almost demanded.

"Think about it," she defended. "If we run after your dad then we will probably die. But, if we wait and do the jobs we have been doing up to now, we will build up our money, which we can spend on better weapons than those rusty rifles in our house. We can further ourselves, too, by being more experienced to the wasteland. It would be a much better idea if we follow him later. We don't even know where he is going, except the city; and I've read that those are big places. I don't mean waiting months, just a week or so; just so we know what we are actually doing."

Arthur nodded in silence, frowning as he thought.

"Perhaps you are right; but that would mean we lose the advantage of speed." He concluded.

"We can go to the city and ask around like we did here."

"Very well. Tomorrow we shall travel to the market for Moira. Theretofore we should return and consider whether to pursue my father or not; though we should avoid staying here for too long; lest we lose him indefinitely." He concluded.

"Okay then." Amata said, leaning in to give him a kiss. "We should go back, it's getting late."

The pair returned to their house, and after briefly inspecting their new arms, they retired for the night, aiming to rise early in the morning to enable them to spend much of the day in light, without fear that their operations outside the fence of Megaton be impeded by darkness.

Amata awoke from her sleep next to Arthur, who looked dead to the world. She carefully rolled over and out of bed, trying her hardest not to wake Arthur up. She crept from the room and walked downstairs. Between them, they had drank from a few bottles of water, and their empty bottles lined their kitchen table. Amata filled them up from the tap; watching them fill with discoloured water. She caught a glimpse of herself from the reflection in the water. She gasped, horrified how dirty and greasy her usually immaculately clean hair had become. She looked at her hands and saw them to be dirty, with black areas under her finger nails. It had occurred to her she hadn't even been able to brush her teeth.

She began washing herself in the sink, using a piece of cloth to brush her teeth and the water to clean her skin. She was in the process of sticking her hair under the tap to rinse it when. She wondered if the store they were going to investigate would have any shampoo still inside it. She thought if anyone else had raided the store before them, or even if the store was inhabited at all. Her mind wandered from worry to something of excitement, looking forwards to the prospects of exploring; something that both terrified her but also excited great curiosity.

Arthur walked into the kitchen, ending Amata's train of thought. He looked at her and then looked at his own skin, noticing, as she had done, the discolouration. He decided, however, that such maintenance could wait for their operations of the day.

He took a drink from their fridge, which did not work but they used it as a storage area nonetheless. He then walked into the front room and, from a cabinet, he withdrew the two ancient rifles. He also took out several boxes of ammunition for them and a couple of magazines for them also. He began to fill the rounds into the magazines, two to a rifle, and he stored the extra rounds in the bag he had heretofore been carrying; but before he placed the rounds in, he took out two of the clean jumpsuits he had stored in his bag up until now. He quickly changed into a clean one and placed his dirty one in a cupboard for cleaning later.

Amata walked from the kitchen with her hair in a bun, waiting for it to dry. Arthur motioned to the spare jumpsuit he had brought out for her.

"Since cleanliness is of the issue, I've brought a spare set for you." He announced, motioning towards the folded jumpsuit.

Amata looked at it with a smile. "But you're taller than me. It won't fit."

"Needs must, and necessity demands. Why clean yourself but not change?" he questioned

Amata picked up the jumpsuit and let it unravel itself; showing itself to be of greater size. "I'll wear what I'm wearing now, thank you." She rejected, placing the jumpsuit on a nearby chair.

Arthur handed Amata a rifle and the two magazines. "Place one in your rifle, the other is to go in your left pocket."

"Why left?" she questioned.

"Ergonomics." He replied.

Amata saw the sense, having to hold the rifle with the right side. She placed the magazine in her rifle and was about to cock it. She had a strange sense of unease as she was about to operate the rifle.

"Not yet. It's not safe; we will do that outside." He implored. To Amata, Arthur seemed calm, almost focused but he also seemed on edge; unsure of himself. His actions seemed shifty and nervous; Amata attributed those movements to anxiety before they were to go and investigate the shop. Amata now was beginning to share Arthur apparent nervousness as a feeling of worry grew within her; the prospect of going back out into the wasteland, after such a comfortable time in Megaton was decidedly with Amata, compounded by the fact they knew nothing of the shop.

Arthur opened the door and walk out into the early morning sun. He breathed the damp air, trying to steady himself. Amata walked out too, clenching the rifle tightly in her hands. Arthur led the way down to the bomb, Amata following in silence. As they walked past the bomb, heading to the door, Amata recalled climbing in side, facing the hostility of a fervent reverend of the bomb. She could feel herself becoming uneasy; regretting the offer to walk into the wasteland unknowing of what they would find; having the same unsettling feeling as when they had left the vault. Regardless, she was going to resolve herself to the task. She knew such thoughts were not going to do anything to help them.

Amata had hardly realised they were at the front gate of Megaton she was so deep in her own thoughts. She looked to Arthur, he was silent, seemingly trying to block something out. Arthur stopped to load his rifle and cocked it, watching his dirty hands go through the motions, trying to concentrate on anything but his own apprehensions. He turned to Amata, who had imitated his actions and looked into her eyes. He was concerned; their first night they had encountered a flying robot, of all things, and that was just after a day. The rumours which circulated the town did much to add to his nervousness; raiders removing limbs, massive insects that roamed without heel, scavengers who would remorselessly murder you for anything with a hint of shine. Though he was trying his hardest to conceal it from Amata, he could feel himself leaking with uncertainty; no longer was the wasteland such a deserted place; it seemed much more hostile, evil almost. But what worried him the most was the look of fear on Amata's face. Her skin was pale, her motions quick, uneasy and unnatural, as if being harshly reprimanded. He tried giving her a smile, though unconvincingly. She replied with nodding her head slightly.

They set off to the known co-ordinates of the Super-Duper Mart, close to each other and line abreast. They held their rifles by their sides as searched the ground in front of them. Arthur closed his mind as much as he could, desperately trying to focus on the present, keen to avoid any detrimental thoughts. Amata was attempting the same, but most of her worry had left; instead, she was remembering the events of the vault, and escaping; how they were forced out into the arid world. Remembering that made her consider that her action then were a far more courageous act; so told herself, telling a lie and wanting to believe it.

The world was silent and the air still. Around them lay virtually nothing of significance. The pair looked around the landscape; but searching for different things. Arthur was cautiously scanning all around him, looking for anything that he could see as a threat, desperate to ensure their safety, concentrating on protecting themselves. He was not enjoying the comforts that were easing Amata. She was looking around in awe at the wasteland again. In the distance she saw the large water tower that overlooked their escape. She saw small bushes, ostensibly dead, though she wasn't sure; overhead lines that lay on the floor, recounting the amount of effort that must have gone into the construction of the ruined world. She was daydreaming of what the world once looked like, envious of those who had witnessed it, and regretting existing in the age she did. For their walk, not a single word was spoken to each other. Both were too involved with their respective world to disrupt one another from theirs.

They crested a hill overlooking a roughly rectangular building with a car park to the front. The building was adorned with graffiti and with overgrown bushes encroaching upon its foundations. Amata was amazed that the building was still standing; though she hadn't seen the front of the shop, the back walls had significant cracks in them, not just in the paint but also the bricks of the wall. Arthur was paying less attention to the building; instead he was greatly concerned about anyone who might inhabit the surrounding land. He was keen to avoid being seen, hoping this would afford them more time to search throughout the building, something he was sure would be deserted. He prevailed upon the conclusion that no one was around to be seen.

"Can you see anything?" Amata asked, still looking at the building, wondering how long the bins had been there.

"Nothing as of yet." Arthur replied, still looking to the distance, his eye being caught on the fallen freeway.

"Should we go down?" She suggested.

Arthur paused for a moment, moving his head from left to right. A feeling of doubt was still overcoming him. He had seen no such cause for concern, but he could not shake a feeling of insecurity which was plaguing him.

"Alright." He finally said. "The front door is to the other side of the building." He said, placing his rifle on his shoulder.

Amata walked down first from the hill. She suddenly became acutely aware of the openness of their position. A sense of vulnerability came over her as it had Arthur. She quickly dashed across the forty metres of open ground to the side of the building and leaning her back on it, her rifle in her hands and finger touching the trigger. Arthur ran in behind her a moment later. The pair did not move for a few moments, electing to wait and see if anyone had seen them.

Amata looked to Arthur. "Seems like no one saw us…"

"I should hope so." he replied, looking at her concerned. "The entrance is round the corner, be careful." He implored.

Amata nodded and began slowly creeping round to the front of the building. She placed her back against the wall as she neared the corner, pushing herself against the wall to allow her to have a better look around the front without exposing herself.

She cautiously peered round the corner. Not three metres away she saw the body of an emancipated woman hanging from the ceiling by meat hooks. Amata screamed at the horrific sight, dropping her rifle in the process and fell backwards. The ancient rifle fired a round into the wall beside her as it hit the ground, spraying the dust of shattered bricks over her legs and fragments into her face. Arthur rushed over to her and put his hand over her mouth and pulled her into him, still unaware what she was screaming at. She began to cry into Arthurs shoulder, her face turning bright red as her face contorted at the shock. Arthur held her close, trying to calm her down as best he could, fully aware that the scream and the shot from the rifle would likely have made anyone within miles aware of their presence. He was crouched down on the floor with Amata in his arms, gravely concerned at what she had seen.

He stroked her hair softly and stood up, placing his rifle into his shoulder and hesitantly looking around the corner. There he saw seven bodies all stung from the roof like animals, their stomachs split and their guts hanging out. Pools of dried blood were below some, while others had blood that was still liquid; the farthest one had blood that was still dipping from his feet. All the bodies were bruised, large gashes in their face and on their bodies. Arthur recoiled around the corner, fighting the urge to throw up; Amata had already lost that battle and was in the process of spitting out the sick from her mouth.

"Absolute barbarism." Arthur scorned, refusing to look at the bodies.

Amata was still sat on the floor with her hands over her face, she hadn't said anything and Arthur knew he needed her to carry on; he was convinced that their being there was going to do nothing but waste valuable time.

"Amata… Amata please. We need to get inside; it's not safe out here." He pleaded, trying to pull her to her feet. She stood up, eyes red with distress and face pained with expression. Arthur sympathetically hugged her closely, trying to ease her shock.

"We have no other choice but to enter from the front…" he started.

"No Arthur, I don't want to I want…" she interrupted, desperate to withdraw from this scenario.

"I know," He said firmly, grasping her hand. "There is no place I can imagine that is worse than that sight, but we must. Hold my hand and stay close to me. We need to go into the store, for the sake of ourselves; and I must insist you come with me." He implored.

Amata nodded, seeing there being no use in staying outside, and seeing how determined Arthur was to enter the building. She picked up her rifle and saw the spent case which had nearly shot her. Her hands were trembling with the shock of the sight of those poor, unfortunate people hanging from the roof.

Arthur grimaced as he walked carefully around the corner, desperately trying to avoid looking at the bodies with morbid fascination. He had no doubt in his mind that whoever had committed such atrocities would simply do the same to Arthur and Amata if they were caught. Amata refused to open her eyes, using Arthurs hand to navigate by as the wretched smell of rotting flesh bombarded her nose.

Arthur approached the gate, and in no mood to delay their departure from that nightmarish scene, he simply barged it open with his shoulder. He was aware that this course of action was not the most tactically sound, but he could bare the sight no longer. The door gave way and the pair stumbled into the dusty entrance of the shop.

The air was damp, musty and smelling of rot. The store was dark, save for a few small windows that let through beams of light, and the door which Arthur had opened. Everywhere the shelves upon which the food would have been stacked were thrown about the shop, not a single aisle being in any decent state. Empty cans lay on the floor and ripped packaging strewn all around. Amata, by this moment, had calmed down sufficiently to allow her to walk over to a till. Wiping away her tears, she opened the drawer and had a look inside; a few spare coins, nothing of interest. Amata decided to walk down the side of an aisle, fearfully exploring, stopping at every sound as if it were someone trying to kill her.

Arthur had spotted that there were walkways and gantries in the shop, which suggested that whoever had inhabited this area still used it. Arthur shrank in great discomfort of this knowledge.

"Amata?" he called into the darkness as quietly as he could, unsure of where Amata had wandered off to.

"Yeah?" came the reply.

"Come here if you will." He asked.

"No, you come here." She commanded

Arthur sighed; he desperately wanted to remove himself from this building, a sense of urgency the overriding demand. He walked silently across the building to where Amata had called from. He found Amata behind a counter, recessed into the wall and a large room behind. In the corner of that room was Amata, crouched by a large sealed metal door and using a computer.

"What on earth are you doing?" Arthur asked as he peered over the counter, confused to the use of the computer.

"I'm trying to open this door with code from this computer." She replied, as if the question was axiomatic.

Arthur had little care for computers, but climbed over the counter anyway to see if he could help Amata in anyway. He slid across the table and accidentally knocked a small can off, which cluttered noisily against the floor, echoing throughout the silent shop. Both Arthur and Amata quickly stopped and turned around to the noise, both acutely aware anyone could enter the building at any time. When both had realise the sound came from the can, their panicked reactions left them, and Amata returned to the computer and Arthur returned to his cautious tour of the shop.

He walked over to the table in the centre of the room and discovered three full magazines and three grenades. Picking them up in his hand, Arthur looked at the rounds in the magazine.

"Same as ours…" he thought to himself.

Arthur had never been a thief, the worst thing he ever had done was steal the bottle of Vodka that he used on Burke; which, even for its use, he still felt awful for stealing it. He regretted what he was going to do; his father had always instilled in him that stealing is immoral, and it went against every fibre in his body to remove his bag and place the grenades and magazines in, holding on to one grenade to study and look at.

"Have you managed to get anywhere with the door?" Arthur asked.

"No, not yet." She replied, still concentrating on the code.

"Well my time was far more profitable…" he remarked.

"Maybe it would be more so if you didn't pester me…" she retorted, giving Arthur a cheeky grin.

Arthur smiled a little, before turning around to see if he could find anything else. He noticed a beam of light shining from the front of the shop, but not where the pair had entered. It was further to the right, and Arthur was entirely convinced that it was not there before. He shouldered his rifle, but did not raise it, intent on first identifying what had opened the door, if anything. He slowly walked around the counter, though the corridor and placed himself against a shelf. He could feel his heart going in his chest. The room seemed to forbid him to see anything; shadows are hard to spot in the dark, he thought to himself.

He could see nothing, but suddenly there was a loud crash as something was thrown against a shelf, which in turn caused many cans and boxes to fall on the floor from across the aisle he was hiding against. He shot his head around to the noise, listening intently for any other noises, footsteps perhaps. Arthur panicked, and quickly retreated to the room where Amata was.

"Did you drop something again?" she asked, far too loud for Arthurs liking.

He raised his finger to his lips, urgently demanding Amata to be quiet. Her face dropped when she realised the bang was.

"Who is it?" she whispered.

"I don't know. How soon can you open that door?" he asked as quietly as he could.

"One minute." She replied, as she turned back to the computer, hastily hitting the keys with her fingers as rapidly as she could, trying to break the sequence.

Arthur pushed himself against the counter and again began peering over to see if he could make out any figures. A beam of light silhouetted three people out to him, walking straight towards him. He ducked down, considering his options. He fumbled for his rifle and knelt across the table, hoping to be ready to shoot those he saw before they could shoot them.

A horrible sense of danger came over him, as he desperately tried to ready himself to shoot another person again.

Behind him, Amata smiled a relived smile as she inputted the right code, opening the metal door behind. Arthur glanced at her and waved for her to enter through the door she had just opened. She crept in quietly, followed shortly behind by Arthur.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"I haven't a clue; I was certain it would have taken any party considerably longer to return. Take what you can, but be quick." He urged.

Amata scanned the room for anything important. She saw a shelf, still loaded with food.

"Give me your bag." She said as she placed her rifle on the floor.

Arthur took the straps off and handed it to her. Amata quickly walked to the shelf and began piling the food into the bag and closed the zip as quickly as she could. She was going to return to Arthur when she saw a first aid kit attached to the wall. She hurried over to it and opened the case, letting its contents spill into the bag which she had reopened.

She rushed back over to Arthur. "Are they still there?"

"They have moved closer. I cannot be sure if they know of are being here, but I would say that are yet unaware. That being said, however, there is no way we could practicably leave without crossing into their vision. I have no stomach to be shot at."

"What can we do?" She asked

Arthur looked at her gravely, frowning unhappily at their limited prospects. Amata looked to her rifle, propped against her leg. She shouldered the bag and shuffled along the floor to the counter. She was steeling herself to fire the rifle at a person; remarking for frequently such a scenario had existed within the past week. Arthur moved to the table, trying to keep his breaths quiet. He raised his rifle against the counter and aimed down the sights. The black air revealed nothing.

"Amata, can you see anyone?" he whispered.

She imitated Arthur, aiming into the darkness trying to find someone; her adjusted eyes trying to discern person from shapes, but in vain. Suddenly, a figure was made visible by silhouette. Amata pointed it out to Arthur, who in turn aimed at the shape. Arthur was about to fire when another figure appeared in another row; Arthur quickly aimed at the new target.

"Shoot the first person." Arthur order to Amata.

Amata's finger squeezed gently on the trigger; her hands unsteady, her body resisting her minds orders to shoot whoever was walking towards them. Arthur looked over his shoulder to Amata. From her face, he knew she was struggling to fire at the person; in honesty, so was he. He had a perfect shot at his target, but for some reason, he simply could not, or would not fire. A moral argument ensured, both Amata and Arthur unwilling to fire.

Suddenly, bright flashes of light and thundering booms resounded throughout the shop; a third person had walked upon the gantry and found the pairs position. Three bullets smashed loudly into the counter they were hiding behind. Arthur and Amata shuddered at the impacts, both kneeling behind the counter, unwilling to face the bullets. Arthur was trying to control himself, rationalising that he needed to shoot back; though courage is often faltering with inexperience. He leaned over the counter and shot back, badly missing his target. Amata's face was white with fear, but, defying the intimidation of the three people, she too sat up and fired at the silhouettes; the smell of cordite burning her nose and the flash of the rifles temporarily blinding her.

More rounds impacted against the walls behind them and the counter.

Arthur fumbled for the grenade in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it, apprehensive of the power he supposed it possessed.

"This one's going to require careful timing." He told to Amata over the deafening guns shots. He stood up and threw the grenade towards two figures firing at him. He ducked down and a second later a large explosion reverberated the air. Boxes and cans flew from shelves as the shockwave blasted throughout the store. The pair heard the horrendous sounds of someone screaming, in such pain as the grenade had not killed her, though it could not be said that was fortunate.

Amata grimaced at the sound, but continued to shoot at the figure on the gantry whenever the opportunity arose.

"Amata! Run to the exit! I shall try and keep their attentions on me!" Arthur yelled as yet more bullets smashed into the counter. One round hit the pillar above Amata's face, spending a shower of grit and dust into her eyes. Wiping the dust away and blinking as fast as she could, she shuffled to the corridor. She saw one figure hiding behind an aisle. She took aim unsteadily, and, attempting to put her morals aside, shot at the figure.

The figure simply fell down, with no ceremony; no grand gesture, no scream, just fell heavily on the floor. Amata looked on in sheer horror, entirely forgetting that she was being shot at. A bullet hit into the wall behind her, bring her rudely back into reality. She ran behind a pillar at the side of the store, bullets impacting right behind her as she ran. The entire scene was one of the most frightening experiences of her life. She ran as fast as she could, her breathing deep and fast, slowing down was not on her agenda, and as a result, she hit painfully into the wall. She could see Arthur occasionally firing from the counter which they had hidden behind, which was now a shattered remnant of itself, the bricks missing entirely in some places, and the wall crumbling in the rest. There was another large explosion, and then a deathly silence. Arthur did not fire from the room and the figure did not fire back. Amata panicked, her mind racing over the thought of Arthur's death. Her heart dropped as she focused on only the door, not caring for her own safety she began to run back to the room. As Amata began running backwards towards the room a hail of bullets hit towards the corridor; a moment later Arthur came careening out of the corridor and towards Amata's position.

Amata felt a huge wave of relief wash over her, even smiling slightly as Arthur ran towards her.

"Don't stop!" he yelled, waving his hand towards the door. The pair disregarded firing back and simply sprant to the nearby entrance, exiting from the exact same door they entered from. Amata ran out first as Arthur took one final shot. A stray round hit the head of a strung up body, causing the head of the person to explode all over Amata. She screamed at the event, and nearly fell over, stumbling into the body. She quickly threw off the larger parts of the head and ran around the corner of the building, prepared to run back the way they had arrived. Arthur was more fortunate, avoiding entirely the human shower.

Amata clung to her rifle as she waited for Arthur Anxiously to walk round the corner where she was hiding. She very nearly shot Arthur as he ran round the corner, she was so on edge. Arthurs face looked equally stunned by the ordeal. His face was sweaty and tired, with the seeming permanent expression of distress. The two ran into the wasteland without so much as turning around. The hot sun burning their pale skin, heating their bodies to an uncomfortable degree; but they did not stop. They ran up the overlooking hill and continued to run on the flats, their jumpsuits becoming more and more wet with sweat. Amata's face was covered in someone's blood and as it mixed with sweat it dripped from her nose onto her neck as they ran. Neither of them could tell if they were being shot at, but they weren't inclined to turn around for the purposes of finding out. Even when they were a two miles away, heavily out of breath and exhausted both physically and mentally, they still kept a fast pace, neither of them wanting to stop for anything.

Only when Megaton was finally in sight did they stop. They both panted, breathing in the dry air as fast as they could. Arthur looked to Amata, her usually olive skin was white, her face screamed anxiety, pain and horror all at once. They had both shot and killed someone before, but for entirely different purposes; then it was personal, but now they felt dirty; as if they had done something they ought not to have. The screams of the lady who was blown up by the grenade still haunted Amata as tears rolled silently down her face.

Arthur could see her suffering and walked over and pulled her into a hug. She resisted, looking away and forcing Arthur back. Arthur gave her a pleading look, miserably trying to give her the attention she needed. Amata walked on, her jumpsuit sweaty, her forehead dripping and her hair drying with blood. The pathetic pair continued to walk at a brisk pace, the life of them gone, walking in silence, Amata leading the way.

At the foot of the Great Gate Amata walked straight past the welcoming robot, opening the door quickly and without word walking up the stairs, Arthur anxiously behind her every step of the way. She walked straight to their house, opened the door and walked in, dropping her rifle on the floor, slinging the bag onto the chair and unzipping her jumpsuit to the waist, revealing a sweaty vest underneath. Arthur stood at the door, watching helplessly, wishing there was some magical remedy to the situation. Amata walked to the sink and ran the tap. A stream of lukewarm discoloured water came out and Amata began to wash her hands. She only really washed her hands, never moving up her forearms, continually wringing her hands together and washing her palms. She had several small cuts on her face from debris of the destroyed bricks, but she made no scruple of them, not even so much as to justify the pain but running tender hands over them.

Arthur placed his rifle a shelf and continued to watch Amata clean her hands. He understood this was stress induced, but he was at a loss as to how he could help; practitioning was entirely different to mental health. He looked at her face, she was entirely devoted to the task of washing her hands, no tears, no lip quivering, no sadness. She looked angry, determined and resolution. Arthur walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She stopped rubbing her hands together and looked to the side, biting her bottom lip in sadness. Arthur witnessed his girlfriend start to cry again, sobbing such anguish, but still not committing to any motion.

He turned her round and pulled her into him. She held her hands tight against her chest, despondent to any affection. Arthur held her tightly, rubbing his hands against her back as she continued to cry into him. Arthur was incredibly affected by this; Amata had always been strong, resolute; even after the events in the vault she demonstrated the ability to be level headed about herself; but now she seemed destroyed.

The pair stood there for several minutes, Arthur embracing Amata, Amata coming to terms with what had happened. She couldn't believe the absolute horror that had occurred. She was scared for herself; indeed the rounds hitting but moments before her were terrifying; but she was most concerned about Arthur. She was constantly worried about him, particularly when the explosion went off. The feeling of pure dread was something she did not want to experience again, that feeling of uselessness that overcame her was pitiful and the desperation of their situation, once apparent, did much to still fear into her. She never again wanted to feel so trapped. She didn't mind the blood in her hair, or the sweat, or the cuts on her face, she just could not stand the massive and varying amounts of fear that stemmed from the perceived loss of a loved one.

Arthur didn't understand, he couldn't; she could never fully explain to him how she felt in those moments, he always seemed to deal with stress better, even if he had not looked so worse for wear since the incident in the Vault. She was relived everything was alright and no substantial damage had been caused, but she knew that scenarios like this, where life seems so worthless to others, was a problem that was not going to go away. She could not stand the thought of constantly living in fear. Those emotions that wrecked such havoc upon her were going to be continuous and sustained, and one day, perhaps, something might occur as to induce a serious prospects of being alone, without one another, against their will and irrepairably damaging themselves.

Amata, after a length of time, had regained her composure. She smiled wearily at Arthur, giving him much joy that he had, perhaps, played some small part in removing the immediate distress.

"Can we just get this over with? Can we just go to the supply store and be done with this ordeal?" she almost begged.

Arthur smiled sympathetically. "Of course we can. We can depart for there now."

Amata nodded. She wiped her tired eyes and picked up Arthur's bag, still with the upper jumpsuit of her jumpsuit tied around her waist. She threw the bag over onto her back and opened the door. Arthur walked into the kitchen and turned off the tap and walked towards the door. He thanked her and walked out into the mid-day sun. The heat had not been nearly as intense as it had while they had been running, and Arthur could actually smell himself. Neither of them were dressed to receive, but at that moment, neither of them cared.

They walked down the Craterside Supply and walked inside.

"Oh hey you guys! It's great to see you made it back alive!"

Arthur caught on to that sentence.

"You will forgive me for the impertinence, but were you expecting us to be in any immediate danger?" he demanded, suddenly becoming very aggravated by Moira; his eyes narrowing, he back straightening and he manner becoming aggravated.

"Oh yeah! It's a dangerous place out there and the raiders tend to gather all together at places like the Super Duper Mart."

"I might as well inquire why, with so evident a design of having us killed, you chose to tell me the nature of these buildings after we had set out to complete this assignment…" Arthur said, stepping forward towards her menacingly, his voice raising louder.

"Oh I wasn't _trying_ to get you killed; I just wanted to see how a newbie would do." She explained.

Amata was stunned by what Moira was saying. She was frowning angrily at her and slightly disbelieving.

"Then might you explain with so little an attempt at an apology you are thus pleased with yourself?"

"Because if I didn't, then I wouldn't be able to put that in the book silly! That wouldn't make such good reading either, it would be boring and no one would like it." She replied cheerfully, evidently unaware of Arthurs building rage.

"Oh yes, your misfortunes would be great indeed…" He retorted.

"Yes they would!" she agreed.

"Do you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances? Thank-you for explaining your objectives so fully; perhaps the most injurious thing in my life ever to occur might have been surpassed had your selfish motives had not been damaged by our own safekeeping. My good opinion once lost is lost forever." He eviscerated.

Moira looked almost put out, as if what Arthur had said was rude, but somehow she did not understand why Arthur was so insulted. Amata, too, was utterly offended by Moira and her inconsiderate actions. Amata walked over to Moira and emptied her bag on the table.

"We found food and medical supplies in a room which was locked. I had to hack a working computer to make it open. Then raiders came and shot at us. I hope this furthers your book." She smiled sarcastically as she began placing everything into the bag again.

Amata walked from the room without saying goodbye, Arthur being at the door held it open for Amata to walk straight out. They walked straight home, both furious with Moira. They entered their home and Amata sat down on a chair. Her legs hurt, her back was trained and her eyes were tired with exhaustion. Arthur sat on the floor and began to clean his rifle. Both began to think the day through again, both becoming shrouded in their words of distress. Eventually Amata broke the silence.

"Were you scared?" she asked.

Arthur looked up and thought for a moment. "During the engagement; no. But it was when we were running back that I was petrified. I am entirely certain that one of the most exhilarating things it to be shot at without result; yet I replayed what happened so many times in my head it did nothing but make me sick. If something so trivial had gone wrong, the consequences could have been so severe…" he trailed off.

Amata understood, but she did not want to talk about the day anymore, she wanted to see how Arthur felt. Amata needed something to preoccupy herself, she didn't want to slip into the trap of overthinking the day's events. She stood up and walked over to the walls. She ran her fingers along the rusted metal, considering whether or not it could be repaired. She decided it could, with the right solution of abbraxo.

"Do you ever think we will make this place more homely?" she asked Arthur.

"When we have money, though comforts are not particularly high on my list of priorities; perhaps when we sort out our current business.

Amata sat down on the sofa again and Arthur had finished assembling the rifle. He walked over to Amata and sat with her. She lay her head on his chest and got comfortable.

"I love you, you know?" She said.

"I'm aware." He laughed.

The pair were exhausted and before long they had both fallen asleep in positions that would hardly contribute to a comfortable night's sleep. It was a little past two in the afternoon. Both of them taking solace in each other, but the majority of their worry could be attributed to their other. But neither of them doubted they would have failed in such a place without one another.

* * *

><p>Several miles away, there was a building, constructed in a spur of a hill, hidden from view, constructed entirely from scrap material. A man dressed in the usual wasteland attire walked into the shack. The man stopped and bowed his head in respect of a man sat at a table, dressed in a khaki trench coat.<p>

"They left Megaton today, apparently with the aim of killing bandits, which they did so with a frightening degree of success."

"Really now? That is peculiar. Time can ill afford us to wait for much longer. I will have to pay them a visit. Some fresh air might do me some good anyway. But not right now, I'm preoccupied at this moment, but soon though, as soon as the circumstance permit. Thank you Andrew, you may be excused."

The man walked out of the shack again, leaving the coated man to his thoughts once more. He poured himself a glass of whiskey from a canter and held it to the low light, inspecting its quality whilst thinking of the events. "Extraordinary." He said out loud, chuckling as he did and downing his glass. "Simply extraordinary…"

* * *

><p>Hello everyone, I decided to redo the ending of this chapter, under the evaluation of a review and the revelation that what I wrote, was, utter rubbish. I hope you consider this version better than the one before; and for those of you who have never seen the old chapter, then disregard this. Please review and favourite, it does much in the way of development of the story. I hope you are all enjoying this fanfiction.<p> 


	9. Wants, Means and Consequences

Wants, means and consequences.

Constant and unyielding disappointment is a difficult feeling to overcome, Arthur found; more difficult when the options presented to you have both proved a failure, and had now been exhausted. For three weeks Arthur and Amata had walked the wastes, travelling from town to town, seeking any information on Arthurs father; but in every town there was no one who could have helped. Occasionally, there was the rumour that somebody had seen James, clad in a Vault Tec suit, but each instance of this rumour proved to be nothing more than a lie which did much to destroy the faith of Arthur. Each day they endeavoured to travel to as many settlements as possible, and each day Arthur concluded that they had wasted their time. They were running out of money, they were constantly tired and demoralised and the town which Arthur had found himself today was the last town outside of the city which they had not visited yet.

The had walked to Andale, Arefu, Canterbury Commons, Big Town, Girdershade and Grayditch, including numerous small hamlets. To the north, there were several, rather major, settlements, though neither Amata nor Arthur wished to go there; the Northern settlements being renowned for slave trade, wild tribes and anmilas roamed those lands, often killing anyone who ventured there, thus, ruling out James' possible movements in that direction. Arthur's apprehension for entering the city had thus far prevented any argument in favour of seeking his father there, but now, as Arthur stood, arms folded, watching Amata talk with a barkeep about James, hearing the god awful and tiresome 'Three Dog' on the radio in the background, Arthur knew the options outside of the city were running out. Arthur sighed with disappointment when Amata finally turned around and gave him a head shake. He walked straight out of the dirty bar and again into the mid-day sun, holding the door for Amata. Amata noticed the aggravated face on Arthur and resolved to try and alleviate some of his stress.

"It's okay; we will just have to look somewhere else." She said, taking his hand in hers.

"There is nowhere else." He replied. "For our efforts we have incurred the wrath of raiders, been shot at for no provocation and spent our money for no gain. There are no more options, Amata. Every town from has had the same reply; to them, my father does not exist. For all of our strains and injury we have achieved nothing." He admitted.

Amata looked at him sympathetically, knowing the stress of failure weighed heavily on him. She thought about their options for a second.

"We could always try the city." Amata noted.

"No." Arthur rebuffed.

"You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss the idea." She protested.

"I should not wish for us to encounter more difficulties associated with raiders, Amata." He replied.

"Arthur, we've been here for nearly four weeks now, there is nowhere left that your father could have gone. If we don't go into the city then we won't be able to check everywhere we can." She argued.

"Perhaps you are unaware of the rumours so insidiously circulated by everyone in the wasteland that there are creatures twice ourselves, and three times our consequence. You will forgive me then, for an apprehension on my part, I assure you that it stems solely from my anxiety of being pulled in two. There is little we can do there, and I do not wish to afford anyone an opportunity to shoot at us, let alone a mutated monster intent on murdering for pleasure. I cannot accurately convey my utter disdain for entering that place; I should rather exhaust my opportunities and face defeat than see you in danger there. I should also be included to think that our abilities are not up to the standard required for survival in such a place." Arthur replied, somewhat agitated.

"Arthur, our _abilities_ have improved since we left the vault. We can shoot now, we can defend ourselves. We might not be the cold blooded murderers that we come up against but we can still fight. I don't know why you won't consider this? It will at least give us another chance. I know we don't have everything that we should when it comes to the weapons and such, but we can find those, but we need to go to the city otherwise everything that we came out here for was a waste of time. I know we should go, and I know the risks, but we can't stop now, not when we've both sacrificed everything." She said, arguing her point to Arthur.

Arthur sighed and placed his rifle against his foot.

"And what of our means? We have little in the way of ammunition, no food or water enough to last us more than a few days and only one bag in which to carry it all. Our clothes are in need of replacing and yet we don't have enough money to provide any one of these wants, even before we consider the danger of the city." He said, pointing to Amata's worn boots.

"I will find a job or something, but you're missing the point. If we don't act now, if we don't take a risk, then we will never have an opportunity to find your father. We have been here for a month and we've looked everywhere but the city, do you not think that it's stupid that we stop now? I understand you're worried about our welfare, but those considerations are easily placed aside if you consider what we have done this far. I know mutants sound horrible, and I don't want to come across one, but if that's what it takes then so be it." She appealed.

Arthur sighed, seeing how not taking the risk of entering the city would jeopardise an opportunity he could not afford to lose, but still he wanted to protest; he didn't want to go into the city, an almost paralysing inhibition on entering the that damned, almost forbidden place prevented him from willingly taking up the consideration of operations there.

"I am still apprehensive that, till we have the pecuniary means, till we have sufficient food and water; till our rifles be of a decent quality; till we know the enemy we are faced with; till we know how best to conduct ourselves there; and till we are equipped as we ought, the history of every attempt on our part to alter any scenario to our favour in the city will fail, and every consequent action will result in the same as the last. There requires greater considerations before we commit to any general plan." Arthur warned.

Amata smiled, secretly pleased at her ability to make Arthur change his mind.

"We will plan it all out when we get back to Megaton." She smiled as she pulled the rifle from her back and began walking towards the fortified towns exit. Arthur followed beside her and, using his Pipboy to navigate, set off towards Megaton.

A marked difference could be seen in the way the pair walked the wastes. The characteristic fearfulness and extreme trepidation of their earlier explorations of the wastes had been significantly reduced to a more cautious and aware exploration. Both Arthur and Amata were not ignorant to the dangers of the wastes, indeed they had come under fire, without incident, several times during the past week, and as a result, they had deployed a far more coherent plan to help them navigate with the landscape. The pair walked side by side, each checking their half of the landscape for anyone they could see. If the pair had seen somebody, they would lie down and identify them, deducing whether they were friendly or not. Their encounters with raiders had left them with an inhibition to walking at night, and had thus far refrained from it as best they could. The pair rarely spoke as they walked, as they found it distracting and created far too much noise for them to be comfortable. They stopped regularly to take on water or food, and attempted as much as possible to rest, often under the decaying remains of the grey remains of the overhead highways, but they always left within ten minutes, leaving no rubbish to mark their paths. The pair walked at a fast pace, their motivation being the less time outside in the wastes, the less time they could be vulnerable.

All of this walking, however, had affected Amata in rather a painful way. Her boots were in a state of disrepair, attributed by Amata to the radioactive water in the centre of Megaton degrading the various plastics in her boots. Her feet were sore and her legs were tired. Unlike Arthur, who had some time to plan when escaping, she had not packed any spare clothes. Arthur only had one pair of boots, also, but he placed them under far less a strenuous life than Amata did; keen as she was to help the towns people, she often spent hours outside. The pain was at some points so severe that Amata had trouble walking, but she did not tell Arthur; she felt almost embarrassed about her developing injury, and did not wish to trouble him with such petty injuries. Disregarding the pain, and forcing her limp away, she walked onwards with him, trying her best to stay at his side.

Before long they were in sight of Megaton and making good time.

"Do you fancy a rest?" Arthur asked Amata.

"Yes please." She thanked, exhausted from the climb up a major hill and her feet screaming for relief.

The pair sat down with their backs to Megaton, looking out over the wasteland towards the city. Arthur took off his bag and pulled out two bottles of water and handed one to Amata, who drank it thirstily. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, Amata's head leaning on Arthurs shoulder.

"It's beautiful, don't you think?" She asked.

"What is?" Arthur replied.

"The city. It looks so beautiful."

"Yes, perfect for a dystopian novel." Arthur retorted.

Amata tutted and gave a sarcastic look to him making Arthur laugh a little. Amata looked to the Washington Monument, admiring how the pillars of light broke through the smashed structure, seemingly illuminating the city.

"This world is beautiful." Amata admired.

Arthur scoffed. "Beautiful? What is beautiful about any of it?" he asked, almost demanding.

Amata raised her head and looked at him. "I think its incredible that after all the suffering this world has gone through, there are still people who manage to survive, have children and live in a community. I know this world has its problems, I do know, but it's the determination to carry on that I think is very admirable." She stated.

"I cannot think this world to beautiful when I consider how many people die on a daily basis for wants of the most basic means. I cannot recall how many people I have seen who were desperate for water, or how many people I have seen dying of hunger, nor can I forgive those who trespass against us and violently kill for their own means." Arthur remarked.

Amata didn't have a reply, she could think of no way as to reconcile Arthur's obvious disdain for the world. She knew that Arthur would only look at the human cost, and not at the perspective that was Amata's, that is, the ability of a person to carry on regardless of the problems facing them.

"I do not possess the ability to look upon the world with the same kindness as you do." Arthur admitted. "It has always been that way; Amata the optimist. The entire world is good and agreeable in your eyes; you're a great deal too apt to like people in general."

Amata laughed and rested her head on his shoulder once again.

Both of their thoughts passed onto their fathers. Both were immensely worried about them, concerned for their safety, their welfare and most importantly, if they would ever see them again.  
>Amata wondered how her father dealt with her escape from the vault. She thought of his proud nature, and how her escape would have dealt a very personal blow to him. She also knew of his authoritarian stance on almost everything. She wondered whether he had been usurped in the vault, or if he had managed to bring order back and establish the vault as it was. She still resented her father for what occurred on the day of their escape, but she longed to know if he was alright. She tried often to avoid thinking of her father, knowing that it would only stir up bad memories, but she found solace in thinking of him, despite the sadness it incurred. She knew she had made the right decision to leave; she knew that she could not have borne the stress of wondering if Arthur was alive.<br>Arthur too was wondering of his father, but in a far less sentimental fashion. He was trying to discern anywhere that his father might be; trying to deduce why he had left the vault in the first instance, something that had plagued Arthur's mind for the past month continually. Unconsciously Arthur had been wringing his hands in stress and noticed as he broke thought. His looked at his hands and saw the scar that he had acquired the day the vaults generator had caused so much destruction. Amata's hand grasped his as she noticed him in deep though, frowning at an object as he so often did. Arthur turned and smiled at Amata lovingly. Her face with dark with dirt, her hair was greasy and untamed, but so was his.

"You're beautiful." He said finally after looking at her for a minute.

Amata giggled at the comment. "Shut up you." She laughed modestly and rose to her feet, pulling Arthur up with her.

They both picked up their rifles from the floor, and Arthur put his bag back on his back. They turned around and finished the three hundred metre walk back to Megaton beside each other, their now standard formation.

Arthur pushed open the gate for Amata, who thanked him as she walked in. Arthur followed her through and saw Simms walking with purpose towards them. Amata saw him too and noticed his apparent urgency.

"He looks busy…" Amata commented silently to Arthur.

"There you two are!" he exclaimed from some distance away. "I've been looking all over for the both of ya'll."

The pair were surprised by this; they regularly spoke the sheriff, though they never sought him out actively, only really speaking to him as a passer-by. Amata walked down the slope of the crater towards the huffing sheriff with Arthur behind.

"What's a matter sheriff?" Amata asked, confused by his urgency.

"There was a guy looking for ya'll. He seemed mighty interested in seeing you. I looked around for you and when I went back to tell him you weren't here, he was gone, just disappeared without saying anything to anyone. I went looking for him and I found your house had been broken into." He explained to them.

Without allowing the sheriff to finish Amata and Arthur ran to their house as fast as they could. They ran up the scaffolding of the town and straight to their front door which was open ajar. Amata squatted by the lock, examining it for tampering. Arthur walked into the building to be confronted by all of their belongings scattered across the floor. The bookshelf which held most of their ammunition was collapsed on the floor, rounds littering the ground around it. A cupboard was open and the belonging thrown across the floor too. In the kitchen Arthur found their food also pushed off the shelves and the cupboards opened and thrown across the room. Amata ran in to the kitchen to find Arthur.

"The lock isn't broken; it was picked by someone who knows what they're doing." Amata explained.

"Can you check upstairs for me?" Arthur asked urgently.

Amata nodded and ran upstairs to see what damage had been done. Arthur walked over to a desk and opened it up. Inside the contents were as he had left them, except one thing. The cupboard was stocked with two grenades and a few magazine clips he had found in the wastes; but in that cupboard he also stored the silver pocket watch that had his father's face on the inside that Burke had on his body. He reached inside, pulling out the magazines and grenades, searching desperately for that watch. He couldn't find it, so he tipped the desk on itself and titled it to see if anything would slide out. Nothing did.

Arthur took a breath, now aware that whoever entered their house had stolen the watch. Arthur placed his hand on his forehead and drew it down his face in frustration. That was the only material object that he had of his father, and the only possible clue to his whereabouts. Amata came running down the stairs.

"Everything has been thrown out of its place but nothing has been stolen… All our money is still there but everything is on the floor. I don't understand" Amata said placing her hand on her forehead in stress.

Arthur nodded as he stood up, frowning yet again. "It's the same scenario down here; excepting one object."

"What object?" Amata questioned, desperate to know why the broke into her house, running the few steps down the stairs.

"When Burke took me to his home, and we discovered that letter, I also discovered I silver pocket watch, and pictured on the inside was my father with a woman. I took it with me, considering it of some value to our search, and I have thus far elected to keep it safe here, which obviously was the wrong choice…" Arthur revealed.

"And that's been stolen?" She asked, now confused at the intruders motives.

"The only thing." Arthur replied.

At that moment Simms walked into the doorway, breathing heavily. "You two need to give me a break. I've been running to and fro all day now." He gasped.

"Do you know who that man was?" Amata asked, walking from the foot of the stairwell to address Simms.

"I've never seen him before." Simms explained. "I thought he was mighty unusual, dressed as he was."

"Dressed how?" Amata asked again.

Simms stood up straight, finally having caught his breath back. "Well, err, I couldn't see his face, it was hidden behind a hat, and he wore a long brown trench coat. It almost totally covered his face. He only asked me where you two were, I told him I don't know, I went to have a look for him and when I came back, he had vanished." Simms revealed.

"Did anyone see him break into the house?" Amata questioned.

"Nope. Like I said, he just came and went. I asked about when I saw your house had been broken into, but no one had seen anything."

"Then has anyone heard anything?" Arthur asked, finally chiming into the conversation.

The sheriff shook his head disappointedly, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Arthur frowned in disbelief. "Do you not consider that such an inconceivable state of affairs, especially considering how intimate the houses are, being built upon one another? More incredible still, our house being visible to all across the crater, and yet no one saw any break in?" He insisted, frowning at the sheriff.

"Like I said" Simms started, waving his hands to his side defensively "no one saw anything." Simms reaffirmed.

Amata turned around, frustrated and confused about this entire situation.

"What did he steal?" Simms asked.

Amata turned around to address the sheriff. "He stole…"

"Nothing. He stole nothing, sheriff." Arthur finished.

"Well that is mighty strange." He remarked, looking around the room at the carnage. "I'll leave ya'll to it, and I'll see if anybody knows anything. I will be back in a short while." The sheriff said as she walked from the doorway.

"Thank you for your assistance, sheriff." Arthur called back to him. The sheriff dismissed his thanks by waving his hand.

Arthur shut the door to a slightly agitated Amata.

"Why did you tell him nothing was stolen? Do you not think that he could have used that bit of information?" Amata questioned, moving her hands to articulate her point, almost angry with Arthur for jeopardising a chance to catch whoever broke into their house.

Arthur looked insulted. "I misinformed him due to the circumstances around the break in. Do you not consider it queer that a man, who after speaking to Simms, broke into our house with the sole purpose of stealing a single item, of inconsiderable worth, excepting that of sentimentality, of which is only speculated to be worth anything to Burke and certainly not to me. Simms himself seemed unconcerned with the apparent dubiousness of the 'vanishing man', and his actions do not seem consistent with a man who manages a town, and should be concerned with such an event. I told him nothing because he, himself, it would appear, could be linked to the intrusion." Arthur explained.

Amata shook her head. "Simms would never do that." She rejected.

"Perhaps not, though I consider it best to keep him uninformed, as he is already."

"Simms didn't know of the watch." Amata dismissed.

"No, but he had access to the house and the security which governs Megaton." Arthur explained.

"I can't believe you're accusing Simms of this. He's been nothing but generous to us." She protested.

"Amata," he replied, growing annoyed at her anger at him. "I am not accusing anyone, but when the circumstances are such that nobody can positively identify a thief, especially those whose principle job is that function, then no one can be trusted." He explained.

Amata placed her hands over her face in stress. She was deeply upset by someone entering their house, and her mind was passing through various scenarios where the intruder broke in which were not in their favour. "Right, I see, yeah." She nodded, hands still over her face. "Sorry, I just don't know how to handle this…" She admitted, sighing heavily, her hands falling on her lap distressfully.

Arthur walked over to her and rubbed her shoulder affectionately. He didn't know how to handle this situation either. He led Amata to sit down on the settee carefully. Amata looked around the room at all their scattered belongings. Nothing was of true worth, indeed they had little anyway, but Amata resented the fact that what little they had was thus treated. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, looking over their house. The food in the kitchen was spilt and poured across the floor; a few cupboards were broken off their rusted hinges and all the contents of Arthurs fledgling bookshelf was across the floor too. Neither of them said anything for a while until Arthur broke the silence.

"We ought to sell the house." Arthur put forth, frowning in thought at the wall in front of the settee.

Amata turned to look at him with a confused look. "What do you mean? Why?" she asked.

Arthur sighed and looked around the room and turned to face Amata again. "If we are to search for my father, our only hope is within the city. If we do not leave soon, as you pointed out, we will have missed another opportunity and my father will be lost to us forever. We have no money, no way in which it is to be got, and no equipment in which to protect ourselves and make our chances greater than they are from hence. If we sell the house, and use that consequence to fund an expedition to the city, we have a greater chance of succeeding than if we were to acquire the money through labour and lose any advantages which may be derived from those who have made the same sacrifice." Arthur explained.

Amata was silent, thinking over the idea. She was against it, initially, having grown fond of the building and fancied it as her own home. She did, however, see what Arthur was saying; their objective wasn't really to find somewhere to live, it was to find James, and no matter the comfortable living they could afford, the first consideration would always be James.

Amata sighed, consigned to defeat, reluctant to put up a defence, knowing it would be beaten; capitulate now, she thought. A few moments passed before she attempted to say anything. She tried speaking, but found no words forthcoming, instead opening her mouth to speak, but failing to produce, and closing her mouth in near humiliation. Arthur noticed this and elected to remain silent, letting her come to the conclusion herself.

"I really liked this place…" She lamented. "It was _my_ home…" she said glumly, pushing her bottom lip out.

Arthur laughed silently. "It always was too… rustic for my tastes." He commented as he looked at the rusted and faded walls. "When everything is as it ought to be, we can consider buying this place, or another; we will still require a home after all."

"Yeah." Amata replied, still lamenting the soon to be lost home.

Arthur truly felt awful for the course, seeing how Amata had become attached to the house was painful for him to see, knowing he would have to sell it within 24 hours if they were to leave promptly. He pulled Amata's head onto his shoulder and gently stroked her hair. However, they required a new means for getting to the city, and Arthur was already compiling a significant list of equipment, accoutrements, and ,perhaps, even some new rifles. Arthur projected the costs to be somewhere within the region of one thousand caps, a sum nearly unheard of to him. He did not know what the building would go for, though he suspected it would be above two thousand in the very least.

"When do you want to leave for the city?" Amata asked, still resting her head on Arthurs dirty shoulder.

"We should leave promptly and with haste; I intend for us to have departed by noon tomorrow." He replied. "But we can stay longer if you so wish." He replied thoughtfully.

Amata thought for a second, tempted by the idea of an actual bed and running water; the prospects of several days walk was decidedly unwelcome for her, but, she knew that if she stayed another day, they would be further delayed for no gain.

"No, let's just get this over with." She said sitting up. "We should speak to Simms about selling the house, maybe he knows anyone who is looking for a place." She thought.

"Capital idea. If would be so generous as to speak to him, I shall begin with the cleaning." Arthur asked politely, looking for a broom.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be right back." She said as she walked out of the building and into the midday sun. She looked around, checking the levels of the town for Simms. Just then, Simms's son, Harden, ran past the front door and where Amata was standing.

"Harden?" She called. The young boy turned around to face her. He smiled politely and walked over to her.

"Yes, ma'am?" He answered.

"Have you seen your father?" she asked.

"Oh, my dad? I think he's talking to someone at the front gate. I don't know who though."

Amata smiled at the young boy. "Thank you Harden, have a nice day." Harden smiled as he quickly turned around and ran after his friend. Amata peered over to the front gate, squinting through the sun. Indeed, Simms was there and without waiting, she set off at a brisk pace, intent on catching him before he inevitably disappeared.

As Amata approached Simms, he spotted her out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly and ran over to Amata.

"Miss Almodovar, I just asked the lookout then and he says he's seen nothing either." Simms reported, looking defeated at his failure to catch the intruder.

Amata smile gratefully. "Thank you, sheriff, but that isn't such a concern anymore. Arthur and I have agreed to sell the house and continue looking for James down in the City." She frowned, a little, still upset at the selling of the house she fancied as their future.

"Oh…" Simms stumbled. Simms rarely paused, and always gave his opinion most decidedly. "Well that's… that's too bad. I'll admit, I've been quite partial to you two being here, it's a nice change to the drunken louts." Simms indicated with his head, revealing to Amata a man whose face was against the bomb in the centre of town, his body lying in radioactive water and his own urine.

Amata grimaced at the sight, pulling her face at the thought of all the radiation. "Well, I for one will miss this place very dearly." She admitted.

Simms took a moment, as if daring to do something. "If you're concerned about that there break-in, there nothing…"

Amata cut him short mid-sentence. "Sheriff, it has nothing to do with the break in. We just need to move on and we need some money. It has nothing to do with the break in, though it has sped up our plans." Amata said, much to the relief of Simms, who would have hated to have his towns name tarnished. Simms suddenly snapped his fingers.

"I had a caravan come to me just this morning, saying something of a man wanting to buy a house. Sounds too convenient to be true, if you ask me, but he's lookin, whoever he is." Simms revealed.

Amata widened her eyes at the prospect of success. "What? Really? That is convenient," she remarked, somewhere between happy that she had found a potential buyer, and unhappiness at the almost guaranteed loss of her home. "Where is this person?" she asked politely.

"Not far, two miles due North of Arefu; there's not much there but a collection of about three buildings. Not a town, I consider; hasn't even got a name."

"it's certainly not on our maps." Amata recalled. "But thank you for your help, I'm sure you've helped more than you know."

"Think nothing of it." Simms dismissed. "You'll be missed around these parts; between the two of you, you've made quite the impression." He disclosed.

Amata smiled sadly, regretting leaving on such a permanent basis too. "I shall miss it here, but we left the vault for a reason, and we can't afford to lose any time. That's just the way things are." She replied, thinning her lips and shrugging her shoulders.

"Well," Simms replied, slightly more cheerily, "House or no house, ya'll will always be welcome here." He smiled.

Amata smiled gratefully back and nodded her head in appreciation. "Thank you, Simms, for everything, but I must get back, Arthur has probably destroyed something." She laughed, mocking Arthurs practical incapability.

"I'll see you again." Simms said as he turned around and walked towards the gate again.

Amata stood still, watching the Sheriff walk off, thanking him in her mind for all his generosity. She knew without his help they probably wouldn't have lasted as long as they were. She turned around and walked to the atomic bomb, which acted more of a garden ornament and an item for fanatical worship than anything. She stepped in the surround puddle, the dirty water splashing against her degrading boots, and placed her hand on the bomb. She knew Arthur saw this town as nothing more than a desperate plea at survival, often referring to it as "A filthy plight", but she felt attached to the town; a genuine sense of sadness overcame her as she touched the radioactive statue.

Holding back a tear of sentimental sadness, she knelt down and grabbed at the drunk's hand. She pulled his arm around her keck and, using all of her strength, pulled him clumsily to his feet. Amata could not place a name to the man's face, thinking he was a traveller on the road looking to ease his woes for a day or two.

She struggled up the ramps and stairs as she fought to keep the soaking wet man upright enough to allow her to take the drunk to the communal bed rest. After some minutes of pained walking, drunken insults, foul smelling breath and the occasional drunk proposal, Amata dropped the man by the front door. She placed her hands on the small of her back and attempted to straighten her strained back, sighing as a crack of her back brought her relief. She knocked the front door and an old, kind man came out. He smiled at Amata, knowing her relatively well for saving many drunks in the town.

"Miss Almodovar!" he exclaimed. "How nice to see you again." He continued to smile.

"Hello Robert; just the one today." She joked, nodding to the man on the floor.

"Ah yes, I've seen this one before. Don't worry, I'll sort him out." He said, as he himself pulled the drunk to his feet, grunting as he did.

"I've also come to say goodbye actually, Robert. We are planning to go to the city." She revealed, a glance of unhappiness on her face.

Robert paused for a second, heaved the man to his feet and looked at Amata; his weathered face looking somewhat dejected. "Oh that is sad news…" He admitted, averting his eyes slightly. "But," he returned, looking Amata in the eye, "We must not dwell on the unhappiness. It was lovely to meet you and all; and I wish you nothing but the best of luck." He said, smiling warmly as he nodded his head.

Amata smiled again, always cheered up by the happy old man who ran the common house on behalf of Simms. "Thank you. This sounds strange but I'll miss rescuing drunks for you…" she admitted, smilingly only slightly, even then barely covering her sadness.

"Well, you make sure you visit me whenever your back. Now run along, you don't want to keep that boyfriend of yours waiting much longer." He smiled, pulling the drunk inside.

Amata waved Robert goodbye as he walked into the house. The drunk he was carrying was crying out for her. "Don't leave me! I love you! We had something special!" he called as the door shut behind Robert. Amata giggled at the drunk, cheering her up slightly as she began walking down the ramp to go home. She began remembering how most days she would help Robert collect the drunks outside of the Saloon, finding anyway to help the community that she could. She had also helped Walter repair any leaks that had since sprung up around the towns plumbing. Arthur, on the other hand, spent his time inside their house, attempting to further his knowledge by reading as much as he could. He would occasionally help with Amata's errands, but Amata would often decline his help, knowing he would rather read.

Amata yet again began her walk home, observing the discoloured air that blew through the crater, watching the people below go about their jobs and tasks. Incredible, she thought, that so many people had managed to re-establish themselves so solidly and with such good order. Her constant and gnawing complaint was at the integrity of the buildings. They always seemed so precarious, as if a sudden slight shift in mass would send them tumbling down on the people below. Amata could see her house if she looked directly up, seeing the house creep to and fro gently as Arthur walked about within.

She walked on, ascending out of the crater, Amata walked onto her level. She looked at her Pipboy and opened the map menu. She found Arefu, they had visited it a few weeks before, but could find no mention of the small collection of houses that Simms had informed her about. She had managed to rip the locations of several major landmarks in the wasteland from a computer terminal she had found in a local bombed out Library, where Arthur had gleefully ransacked for the treasure trove of books he had begun to hoard; "Those in possession of any significant level of intelligence learn when they can; fools learn when they must." This was his stated his excuse for ridding himself of the guilt of taking without paying.

She continued walking to her house and heard a banging from within. Amata walked curiously to the door and looked inside. The house had been cleaned and most of the objects had been restored to their former places. On the floor, surrounded by books was Arthur, with the look of complete dejection plastered on his face.

"What's wrong?" Amata asked from the doorway.

"I was of the opinion that thieves took materials of value, not break things sentiment…" Arthur ranted.

Amata was confused; Arthur had said nothing had been stolen but the watch. "What?" she asked.

"The book I was currently reading, "The Possibility of Nuclear War", it has been vandalised by the scum who ransacked this house. There are seventeen books, and the one they broke is the one I was reading. " he explained angrily, holding the two halves of the book to Amata.

Amata laughed, finding it amusing that Arthur was seemingly more annoyed at someone breaking a single book than someone breaking into their house. Amata walked over and sat beside Arthur and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've spoken to Simms and he says there is someone looking for a place to live. He told me where they are only living a few miles north of Arefu." She recited, still resting her head on Arthur, reading the names of the books on the floor.

Arthur moved his head slightly. "North of Arefu? I wasn't aware there was anything but waste in that particular direction… Nonetheless, that is rather convenient for ourselves. Should we leave now or tomorrow?" he asked.

"It's up to you, I really don't mind." He dismissed.

"I should sooner leave now, giving us a further advantage. The sooner we can depart for the city the better." He concluded.

Amata nodded her head. "Okay, just let me wash my hands." She said as she stood up and walked to the kitchen.

Arthur tilted his head slightly as a foul smell hit his nose. "Why… does it reek of urine…?" he questioned, unsure of what he was asking even made sense to Amata.

"No reason." She called from the kitchen, washing her hands in the discoloured water.

"If you were aware of the diseases those louts carry, you would be more apprehensive of even being within the vicinity of them, I assure you." Arthur remarked, aware of Amata's habit of helping anyone in the slightest bit of need.

From the kitchen Amata laughed at Arthur's constant disdain of the poor. "You sound like such a supremacist." She remarked.

Arthur recoiled slightly, insulted at such an accolade being attached to himself. "Rubbish, I am no better than they are. However, if they wish to wallow in self-pity and waste away their lives on drink, then so be it. I was of the opinion that the day's work ought to be done in the day. They can reserve their right to waste themselves, if they should so choose." He protested.

Amata again laughed at Arthur as she dried her hands. She walked towards where he was still sat and kissed him on his head. "Well, your 'days' work' might have to wait until tomorrow; it will be getting dark soon." She said, looking outside of the still open door and into the afternoon light.

Arthur collected his small collection of books into a pile and placed them roughly on the shelf. He stood up and picked up his back pack, which was pre-loaded with bullets, a grenade, some food and a few bottles of water, along with the oft forgotten pistol they had hardly used since they had left the vault. He looked to his Pipboy and saw that the light would completely fade away in approximately five hours. Amata and Arthur had never walked in the wasteland during the dark. So often they had heard stories of vicious nocturnal animals ripping apart people, or raiders who operated mostly under the cover of darkness; these stories were enough to dissuade the pair from even hosting the possibility of operations during the dark. The idea of total darkness, to them, was also somewhat unusual. In the vault, during the 'night hours', the lights were only dimmed, still enough to see by; but in the wastes, the all-encompassing darkness gave away no shadows, revealed no movement, and gave no possible indication of direction. Only the dim moon could guide their way; using their Pipboy, illuminating themselves so clearly, and only lighting the ground dimly, was out of the question. They were further disadvantaged in that their eyes were poorly acclimatised to the dark; many times they had been within some building and being almost entirely without direction, whereas someone who had not the same disadvantage could walk around unhindered.

Arthur paused for a second, deliberating whether it was suitable for them to leave. He mentally judged the distance; 'a few miles' did not seem enough information to make an informed decision. Arefu was some distance away, about an hour and a half walk at good speed, and, presuming they found Arefu within that time, it could take another two hours to locate the collection of buildings; even then they would have to speak to various people to locate the correct person, then broker a deal and all the rest. Arthur estimated all that would take approximately four to five hours. Then he factored in that they had been up at six in the morning; they would need rest, food and possibly even shelter, should the weather necessitate.

Notwithstanding all of these obvious caveats, Arthur could hardly resist his urge to leave as soon as possible. He knew it was ill advised, and, indeed, it would be an unnecessary risk, considering the damages which could be incurred. Arthur secretly was incredibly apprehensive about risk of raiders; every attack they had so far they had successfully parried, but Arthur knew luck was a rapidly draining resource.

Arthur looked to Amata, seeing her check her rifle for dirt and any other problems. It truly was remarkable how far they had come since leaving the vault. How every morning when they woke up, they would immediately work on repairing their boots, their clothes and their rifles; how economic they had become also, wasting no money and using what money they gained from work around the town to invest in various commodities, such as soap, once viewed as the most basic of necessities, but now a luxury to be used sparingly, as its high cost dictated. The pair had been lead to believe that life outside was so void of any compassion, of any security and any happiness that their lives in the vault would have been far better if they hadn't escaped.

Amata walked over to Arthur, rifle in hand and magazine in the other. "Are we going or what?" she said, smiling at him, apparently eager to move on.

Arthur nodded. "If we move promptly, and in good order, we should return before sunset. I doubt either of us wish to be out during the darkness." He remarked.

Amata giggled. "And what constitutes 'promptly and in good order'?" she joked.

Arthur shook his head, refraining from smiling, despite wanting to, as he often did to wind Amata up. "Perhaps the day you move anywhere with haste is the day I walk back to the vault willingly." He quipped.

"Don't say that." She said, nudging Arthur in the ribs with the stock of her rifle. "You never know, my father might drag you back there himself."

"By god, I would be inclined to shoot myself before I allow that to happen." He retorted, walking out of their front door, Amata behind.

The pair walked quietly to the front gate, and from there they staged themselves, preparing their rifles, placing a spare magazine in their pocket and making sure they had drunk something. The air now was growing cooler as the heat of midday lessened. Both Arthur and Amata were dressed in their Vault Tec suits, though Arthur, having a spare change of clothes, was dressed in a decidedly cleaner fashion than Amata, whose constant work, industry and charitably had cost her the good graces of her only suit. The knee caps of her suit were worn, and, in some places, torn entirely. The pair had hardly enough money to see to buying replacement clothes, and Amata insisted that what she was currently wearing was sufficient.

The pair then set off, in good order, as Arthur had hoped, and were making quick progress in the wastes, using Arthur's Pipboy to navigate as they often did. The air grew continually cooler throughout their walk, and, aided by the brown dusty winds that rampaged through the wastes occasionally, the pair grew cold, Amata suffering worse due to her suit being more worn.

The pair pressed on regardless, walking side by side all the way, not stopping for anything. Arthur looked to the time on his Pipboy, it was nearly six o'clock; they had not been making the progress Arthur had been hoping for. He looked to Amata in the fading light, seeing her shivering in the now cold air. The sun was low on the horizon and would go down within the next forty-five minutes or so. Arthur's gamble had failed. He looked to his Pipboy as they continued to walk, seeing that, for whatever reason, they were not making the time needed; they were but halfway to Arefu after two hours of walking. Arthurs original plan was to arrive at Arefu and, judging on the time they had left, either camp the night there or continue on to the hamlet of buildings.

Arthur slowed to a stop, Amata walking slightly ahead before it registered that he had stopped. Shivering and holding her arms around herself, with her rifle strapped to her back, she asked why they had stopped, desperate as she was to keep walking so that she may retain some warmth.

"We ought to return to Megaton," Arthur explained. "On our projected timings, I doubt, leaving room for our slowing down due to poor light, it will take us a further two hours to reach Arefu. I would sooner return to Megaton, have you inside and return tomorrow. This is upon my responsibility; I did not leave enough time for such an endeavour." Arthur admitted guiltily, seeing Amata shiver in the cold air, regretting setting off with such little consideration for her.

"Arthur," Amata started, shuffling on her feet to keep warm. "I'll be fine if we just keep walking. There's no point in turning back now."

Arthur was insistent, he wouldn't afford to place Amata's wellbeing before this opportunity to shave a few hours off a journey. "Amata no, I cannot make a better argument than your own health, we should try again tomorrow. I underestimated how little time we had. If I had known then I would never have attempted such a course." He reaffirmed.

From two hundred metres away, hidden from view on a small mound and camouflaged by a bush, were one man and one woman, both dressed in blacked out power armour, the dark green hue of their plasma rifles by their sides reflecting off their white painted shoulder patches. Using thermal imaging technology built into their helmets, they outlined two glowing red columns against the blue surrounding. Switching to regular binoculars, the pair zoomed in on the two figures standing in the wastes, attempting to discern various identifiable qualities.

"Two identified, one male, one female. Seen when seen." Spoke the armour clad woman.

"Seen." Replied the man.

"Both with rifles, small arms."

"Seen."

"Male five foot, closer to six. Female slightly shorter. Matches identification."

"Not a positive identification though. We need to move closer. They are talking, audio won't pick that up from this range."

"I think it's him."

"So do I." The man replied.

"I don't see why we can't just shoot them from here. Correct or not, who will care?" asked the woman through her helmet.

"Our reputation as a professional organisation matters, so stop questioning and move." Came the stern reply.

From their concealed positions, they crawled backwards and, using the topography of the land to hide their movements, began making their way forward to more closely identify the two figures.

"By god Amata, this is not worth the danger. You are freezing, and it shall only get colder. We are wasting time here by this meaningless use of words. Now, will you come with me, so I can ensure you are well kept? I refuse to allow us to carry on this way, you'll die of hypothermia before the night is through." Arthur insisted.

"Right, okay." Amata finally relented, seeing that Arthur was unwilling to continue. She appreciated the sentiment, but could hardly condone the fact they were to have wasted the past few hours searching for Arefu, more so considering how far they had already come. "I don't know why you are making such a fuss, I'm only cold, its nothing out of the ordinary." She insisted. "There is no need to be so protective."

"If I were in your position, would your motives not be the same as mine?" he asked seriously. Amata did not reply, keen to avoid starting an argument. "Precisely." Arthur finished as he turned around.

Amata's teeth chattered as she ran a little to catch up to the side of Arthur. By his side is where she felt safe. Arthur too appreciated her company, and much preferred it to her being behind him, despite the tactical implications. The pair walked on for an hour in near total silence, each keeping a careful lookout, which, however, was becoming increasingly more and more difficult due to the declining light. Within half an hour of them turning around, the sun had completely set beyond the horizon, and the only light was the red hue of the suns rays, still lingering on the horizon. Amata had great difficulty in determining where best to step, often tripping on rocks and brushes, Arthur too was tripping over holes, dips and small mounds. Within thirty more minutes, the black night had encompassed all, only the dim moon providing any light.

Arthur looked to his Pipboy and began to read the map. Within the best part of an hour, they had only managed a quarter of the distance home from where they had returned, and even then only at half the speed they would have in the light. The seriousness of the situation grew apparent to Arthur. The world was black and deadly silent, only the wind blowing through the wastes made any sound. Arthur looked around in vain; he could see nothing beyond a metre.

Amata stopped in her tracks, prompting Arthur to turn around to see what the problem was. She had a pained face, cringing and contorted in extreme discomfort. Arthur turned around to see her distress and leaning uncomfortably on one foot.

"Whatever is the matter?" he asked with great concern.

Amata grimaced once again as she tried to put pressure down on one foot. "It's my shoes, they've given me blisters." She revealed.

Arthur shook his head and knelt down on the floor. Switching his Pipboy on, he began to examine her boots. Arthur could see the leather was breaking in several places, and, in fact, her boots were worse for wear than her tatty jump suit. The boots had split by the sole, one had the top cap seem ripped open and the other had three large gashes in the side.

"Why on earth did you not tell me of this before?" Arthur asked, now well aware of the pain Amata's feet must have been in. Amata remained guiltily silent as Arthur removed the boot from her left foot. Amata used the rifle for balance as Arthur removed her sock and inspected the skin.

"Tonight is decidedly against your favour." Arthur said as he discovered a large blister on the heel of Amata, as well as several smaller ones on the ball of her foot. The blister on Amata's heel was particularly severe, so bad in fact that Arthur was concerned whether it would become infected without the proper attention, which, forthwith, he could not oblige to Amata.

"Show me your other foot." Arthur asked as he placed Amata's sock on the floor so she could stand on it temporarily. Amata again placed the butt of her rifle on the floor to balance herself as Arthur took off her boot.

"Why did you never mention this to me. It is paramount your feet are the principle concern when undertaking activities such as these."

"I didn't want to bother you with them; I didn't think it mattered."

Arthur tutted. "Don't be a fool, of course it does. When we return we will see about procuring a new set of clothes for you; this is simply unacceptable." He remarked, tenderly holding Amata's foot. On her right foot, there was only some minor chafing. Arthur guessed the more substantial damage to the left foot was a result of the more worn boot, and that worn boot being the consequence of Amata's manual labour throughout the past few weeks, indeed, she had left the vault with virtually brand new boots, issued by her father, pro bono, of course.

Arthur pulled off his bag and began looking inside for a Stimpack to reduce the swelling.

"What are you looking for?" Amata asked curiously, rather comforted by the cold breeze hitting her bare feet.

"Something to lessen the smell." Arthur replied; still busy looking in his bag.

Amata huffed indignantly at Arthur's joke, frowning at him when he eventually resurfaced. Arthur had a slight grin on his face as he inserted half of the Stimpack to each of her feet as carefully as he could. Amata winced at the sight of the needle, never having been comfortable with them.

Thirty metres north of Amata and Arthur's position lay the same two power armour clad stalkers. They had silently followed Arthur and Amata's position since they had turned around. They had stopped and lay down when their targets had stopped; one had switched on a light source, the male, and began tending to the female in some way. The light source, they hoped, would give them a face to match their exact target, finally allowing them to act.

"That's him. I'm sure of it." Whispered the woman.

"Call it in then."

"Three two Yankee, this is two scout. Target confirmed, one collateral. Engaging, wait out."  
>The two hopeful assassins readier their plasma rifles, placing their stocks into their metal shoulders and switching their visors to low light vision, producing an intimidating Amber yellow glow from the outside.<p>

Arthur placed the socks back onto Amata's feet carefully, avoiding as best he could from agitating the aggravated sores.

"It would be advisable to walk in your socks, the shoes would only further your pain. The walk will be approximately two hours, if we have good time. You will have to wait for relief until then. As of right now, there is nothing I can do.

Amata nodded as she eased the pressure back onto her left foot. She picked up her boots, electing to carry them, as Arthur shouldered his bag. He turned his Pipboy off and, at that instant, a bright green flash roared passed him, in-between where Arthur and Amata were stood.

Both paused for a moment, not quite registering what was occurring as they swapped puzzled looks. Suddenly it dawned on Amata that the beam of light was a plasma weapon she had read about once in the vault. She pushed Arthur to the floor. Both of them scurried for their weapons and quickly realigned themselves facing the direction of the shot.

Neither of them could see anything in the dark as the scanned the ground, desperately trying to see the location where they were being fired upon from.

"I can't see anything." Amata whispered to Arthur. The air grew quite once more as the flurry of the first shot died off. The pair held their breath, instead trying to rely on their hearing senses to locate anyone. Some distance away Amata heard some movement in the bushes. She quickly aimed in the general direction and fired several times.

Here fire was immediately returned as slow green bolts of plasma perforated the air. All of the bolts missed their target closely, but as Arthur tried firing on the bolts origin, the spot where Amata had shot only moments before lit up again as the sound of the plasma rifles operated. The bolts impacted immediately around Arthur.

Amata fired once again, at both locations, as quickly as she could. She was beginning to panic, as their plight and their foes obvious advantage become more and more apparent. Arthur grabbed Amata at the shoulder and indicated for her to shuffle backwards, behind a small mound. She complied and as Arthur fired yet again, she rolled over the bank and into cover. She sat up and returned fire on any location she thought prudent, her boots in the foreground being lit up by her muzzle flash.

Arthur heaved himself over the mound as more bolts struck the soil, sending dust into his eyes. He wiped the pain away and fired back again, receiving yet another volley.

"It's abundantly clear there is nothing we can do." Arthur near shouted as green flashes flew by. "I've never seen someone so determined to kill." He called out.

Amata fired a few rounds and changed her magazine. Arthur pulled off his bag and withdrew a small cardboard box and a grenade. Amata passed him her spare magazine and from that box, Arthur took spare rounds out and placed them into the empty magazine; this was to ensure they would always have fireable ammunition.

"I need to you attract their attention. Upon my order, fire at them, I will try and throw this grenade. Amata nodded as she placed a full magazine into her rifle, keeping one spare. Arthur, conversely, crawled behind an adjoining mound and continued to crawl under cover for several more metres. From there, he threw a small stone at Amata's leg, indicating for her to fire. Arthur peered over cover as Amata's yellow flashes were met by two distinct firing points. Arthur noticed that one seemed to be moving towards the other, and, sensing an opportunity, he decided not to throw his grenade.

There was a brief lull in the battle as Arthur audibly heard his attackers apparently reloading. On the spur of the moment, Arthur knelt up and threw the grenade as hard as he could between the last known firing points. A massive blast reverberated in the darkness as a shower of either metal or sand rained down upon Arthur and Amata's position.

The grenade landed at the feet of the hulking armoured man. He looked clumsily down at it, realising to move only too late. The blast shook his armour, causing no damage, but his visuals were smashed. The orange hue of the visor dimmed and flickered constantly, losing him the edge he had over their victims. In a torrent of anger he rapidly fired at the cover the girl was behind, smiling venomously as each bolt landed in the soil, slowly eroding her cover away into glass.

Bright flashes caught his eye just before he felt the impact of several rounds on his chest piece. He laughed at the pitiful display of firepower his victims had brought to bear against him. His partner was silently hiding in a bush, waiting for the next person to show themselves. From the right of the girls position, the back of the male stuck up just enough to allow her to take a careful shot. The plasma rifle hissed angrily as a green bolt fired. The slow moving bolt caught the male in the back, around the shoulders; a kill shot to be sure.

"I've got him!" she yelled victoriously to her partner. Her partner looked towards her and gave a quick thumbs up. The firing from both points had ceased, possibly due to both being dead, hopefully. The female assassin looked over to their former targets position and studied it silently. The air grew as dark and as menacing as the night; there was no sound, save for the hot plasma rifles barrels cooling in the night. All was silent as the assassins waited for a retaliation of some sort. None came.

Arthur began crawling back to Amata as slowly and as carefully as he could, trying his best to avoid making any sound, notwithstanding the excruciatingly painful wound on his back, caused by a glancing plasma bolt. Arthur could feel his skin burning, worse still, he could smell the acrid smell of burning flesh. The pain was immense, but given that he could still move his arms enough to drag himself towards Amata's silent position, he disregarded it as much as he could. Arthur was fully endowed with urgency, Amata had not fired a round since Arthur had thrown the grenade; he was truly fearful, the barrage of rounds was visibly destroying her cover; he dreaded to think it, indeed, it terrified him, but he was concerned for her life, more so now that ever. The silence of the night did nothing to reconcile him to these nightmarish thoughts as he tenaciously dragged himself forward against the pain.

From the darkness Arthur could hear a slight clicking. He pressed on, desperate to relive his suffering. In the dimmest of light, he saw Amata. A huge wave of relief washed over him as he pulled himself forwards. Amata was lying down on her back, using what remained of her cover to protect herself whilst she loaded a few rounds into her magazine. Arthur thought it best not to mention the wound on his back, so he carefully rolled onto his side and touched her leg. Her suit was covered in dust from the blast, but Amata seemed unperturbed by it. She merely carried on loading the rounds into the magazine, almost unaware there was anything wrong. The truth was, however, that Amata was so frightened she had to occupy herself and concentrate on not panicking. The sustained heavy fire and constant near misses did much to cause anxiety within her. She felt Arthurs hand against her leg.

"Oh thank god." She sighed quietly. "I thought something had happened." She whispered, smiling madly in the darkness over Arthurs safety.

"I am fine." He lied convincingly. "But I do not know how to counter these opponents in the way were are trying to now. They are damned near invincible and nothing conventional can defeat them, I fear." He whispered.

From beyond their position, The pair could hear heavy metallic boots striking the ground heavily; menacingly growing louder and louder in the abyssal dark. Amata turned her head in the direction of the sound as she slowly inserted a magazine into her rifle.

"Amata, Amata look at me." He ordered, holding her face with his hands. "You need to run, run back to Megaton. It's imperative…"

"No, I won't go, not without you." She asserted as forcefully as she could whilst whispering.

Arthur laughed, regretting already what he was to say. "I will be behind you, but you must not stop, that is essential. Do not turn around, do not stop running, do not stop to shoot, you must run; everything depends upon it. Do you understand?" he demanded.

"Of course."

"I will be moments away behind you, do not consider me, just run. I will be with you." Arthur said, lying through gritted teeth of deceit and pain. "If your feet are in a great deal of pain, administer a Med-X, only one, and through the port on the Pipboy, do not stop." He ordered.

"Do you promise?" She begged, her throat choking on emotion.

Arthur paused for a second, the heavy footsteps growing louder and louder by the second. "Depend upon it." He lied finally.

Arthur knew his injury was severe enough to prevent him from running at any considerable speed for any considerable length, but so was Amata's. Their opponents were too well armed, too well armoured to be defeated with such meagre rusting rifles. Arthur's hope was that by fighting for a minute longer, he could afford Amata enough time to out run the power armour clad assassins, and present her with an opportunity to escape.

Amata nodded sheepishly, the boots intimidating in the background. The assassin was so close now Amata could hear the breathing apparatus working. Arthur handed Amata a single syringe with the Med-X inside, holding her hand tight as he passed it to her.

"Run." Arthur whispered.

Amata lifted her head above the cover and looked towards the footsteps. Two metres away from here was a solid black figure, eyes glowing devilishly amber and flickering like flame. The figure possessed such awe that forced Amata to stumble; but she regained composure. Arthur stood up, shouldered his rifle, and fired brazenly into the visor, aiming best he could without full control of his back.

The figure recoiled at the shock, taking a few paces backward in what Arthur would describe as shock. Arthur could not see, but the impacting bullets crippled the helmet so severely, its use was made redundant, severely limiting the assassins sight. The stumbling figure threw off its helmet, and before Arthur had time to reload, had lunged himself at him. The figure grabbed Arthur's rifle and bent it in half with the strength from the armour. Arthur took a few steps back to size the threat. The armoured man stopped for a moment, and, slowly, withdrew his helmet, throwing it on the floor. The assassin turned on a shoulder mounted light, illuminating the man and Arthur. The man had a bald head and the face of someone who had lived a tough life, scares adorning his face like trophies, one scare passing around the side of his head.

"And so it ends." The man eviscerated loudly, throwing out his arms.

"Hard pounding; let's see who can pound the longest." Arthur replied unconfidently.

Amata ran as fast as she could, her now bloody feet painfully pounding the ground as she continued with her unrelenting speed. From behind she knew she was being pursued, the occasional accurate plasma bolt put paid to any machinations that she had escaped from the assassins. She couldn't hear Arthur, but she trusted him enough to keep his word, he had never broken it before. One bolt landed beside Amata's feet, throwing dirt into her face, causing her to fall over. She tumbled down an escarpment, painfully bashing her ribs on a rock, winding herself.

Amata gasped helplessly for air as she writhed around on the floor. Her rifle had slipped out of arms reach and could not be seen in the darkness. Amata desperately tried to get onto her knees and start running again. She had managed to get onto all fours when a brutal kick was landed on her back, sending her back into the ground and coughing for more air. She managed to roll onto her back, despite the severe pain and saw the towering figure of the black power armour standing over her, the furious amber eyes glowing hellishly in the black of the starless night the figure aimed her with the green plasma rifle, aiming her Amata's chest. Amata grimaced at what was now almost inevitability.

Three loud booms echoed through the wastes. A shower of sparks sprayed over Amata and the hulking assassin fell sideways. Amata lay in shocked silenced for a moment, eyes wide open, disbelieving. She looked at the body and turned her Pipboy light on, revealing three large holes in the breast plate, blood pouring from them. Amata looked around, in the darkness, the immediate area illuminated by her light, trying to see Arthur who she thought had killed the assassin.

"Arthur?" she called into the silence. There was no reply, only a freshly light cigarette rolled down the embankment and rested against the dead assassin.

Arthur did not know what to do; he knew nothing that he had within his means could cause any consequence to the grinning killers, clad in so much armour; he was, effectively, invincible. The man ran at an incredible speed, something Arthur would not have imagined to be possible. The man charged at Arthur, knocking him into the air and landing on the mound they had heretofore used for cover.

Arthur spotted his bag and remembered of the pistol they kept within it, but hardly used. He ran as quickly as he could over to the back and knelt down. Ignoring the pain in his shoulders as best he could, Arthur rummaged through the bag, frantically looking for the pistol. Right at the bottom, along with loose rounds and various other oddities, Arthur found the pistol. Turning as quickly as he could Arthur aimed at the Assassin; the assassin looked back at near astonishment that Arthur had seemingly magically procured the pistol after a few seconds on the floor. He fired, aiming for the head, though due to the relative distance between the two, and the difficulty Arthur had with holding the pistol from the pain in his shoulders.

The hulk smiled and drew his own pistol, a short, but powerful, plasma pistol. Arthur saw the green glow of the pistol being levelled at him and turned to run, but it was too late. The green bolt of various properties sped towards Arthur. It was almost as if time slowed down for Arthur as he tried to fall out of its way, but it was a vain attempt. The bolt struck Arthur on right in the clavicle, near the neck.

Arthur felt a searing and unimaginable pain burn through shoulder and lower neck as the skin evaporated, leaving a bare mess of muscle, blood and wounded skin open to the air as the surrounding tissue either melted into searing goo or burnt and evaporated.. The pain was so intense that Arthur momentarily blackout as he struck the ground, more painful still, on the side of his neck where the damage was. Arthur found himself totally incapacitated, unable to move and struggling desperately to breathe as he lay on his back, frantically attempting to regain control in the pandemonium of pain. Warm blood coursed from the wound and over his neck as his vision began to fade away.

Arthur watched the hulk move closer as he lay helplessly on the floor, obviously keen to deliver the coup de grace. He was smiling, manically, pleased with his achievement. The cool night air felt painful against Arthur's wound, the breeze blowing particles of dust into the blood and muscle. Arthur could feel himself going weak, with Hypovolemic shock or trauma shock, he wasn't sure, probably both.

The hulk stood at the feet of the splayed out and choking Arthur, gratified by Arthur's suffering. The pool of blood reflected the smiling hulks face from the illumination lights attached to his shoulders. The man dropped his pistol to the floor, intent on waiting for the death of his victim by the most painful way he could imagine, that is, the continuation of Arthur's pitiful, slow, excruciating death.

"That's not cricket..." Came a voice to the side of the voice, condemning the hulk. The hulk turned to his side and saw a man, illuminated by the hulks torches. The lone figure stood still on the spot, head tilted down, face obscured from a fedora hat and the trench coat's collar he was wearing covered his face almost entirely, save for the small cigarette hanging between the strangers lips.

The hulk made no discrimination, considering this strange man an expendable in pursuit of his task. The hulk knelt down to pick up his pistol to shoot at the stranger, but before he could even raise it from the ground, the stranger returned fire with a large revolver. The hulks head blew apart with no sign of resistance. The clad body slumped heavily on its front.

Arthur, struggling for breath, thought himself delirious. The stranger walked over to Arthur and knelt beside him, inspecting Arthur's wound with his eyes. He moved Arthurs head slightly, to allow for a better look, causing Arthur to groan in pain between his panic-stricken gasps for air.

"You know, this may seem very queer to you, as you don't know the motive, but this expands far beyond simple murder." The stranger explained, pulling from his pocket a thin silver cigarette box, and from that, he opened it and took out a syringe with a clear red substance within. The stranger's voice was unusual, unlike any in the wasteland, yet it seemed familiar to Arthur, with what little conscience he had left to deduce that. "You'll forgive me one day, when you have the knowledge to enable you to. But that is of little meaning now, there are far more pressing concerns." He said as he concentrated on finding a vain to place the needle in. "This will ease your suffering. Let us hope you make it till the morning." He menaced, placing the needle into Arthur and injecting him with the liquid. "I shouldn't imagine it will be too long before we meet again; next time, I hope, on more mutually advantageous grounds. Oh, and I would imagine you would appreciate this." He prophesised and placed a book by Arthur's hand. Without further a due, he withdrew the needle and left into the brisk night.

Arthur's world span and turned out of focus in a manner which he would never wish for it to again, the light illuminating the area from the now headless hulk was still on, and as Arthur's vision finally left him, all he could do was hear the blood pouring from the headless body. Seconds stretched to minutes as Arthur's terrified mind slowly lost constant with any perception.


	10. I, Alone

I, alone.

Amata gasped for air as she painfully sprant through the dark abyss of the wasteland at night. She could feel thorny bushes clawing at her socks, now wet with blood from her open blisters, her feet suffering further attrition as rocks and stones grated against her. She had been running without pause since she had been beat to the floor by a would-be assassin, only to see the assassin fall dead without explanation. Fearing the worst was still to come, Amata decided to run onwards, abandoning her heavy rifle beside the body. She had no idea what had become of Arthur; she was convinced he had either run ahead of her, or was behind; she was entirely oblivious to his true fate. The sound of her rapid and laboured breathing was the only sound in the wasteland as she ploughed on, disregarding the pain as best she could, occasionally checking her Pipboy to ensure she was running in the correct direction in the dead of the blinding night. She ran on till she was close to Megaton, only one hundred metres or so. There she looked to her Pipboy to see if Arthur had managed to message her through the in-built messaging system. She navigated frantically to her messages column; nothing. She sighed with stress as she placed her hand on her forehead in worry. Quickly typing away at her wrist, she sent a message to him. "Where are you?!" Her hairband had fallen out with all the running, and now her hair dangled loosely as she looked around in the darkness, knowing that it was useless.

Her feet screamed as she ran towards the front gate of megaton. The door protested loudly as Amata pushed open the gate. She panted heavily as the stitch in her side continued to burn into her. Still unknowing of Arthur's whereabouts, she began to shout his name frantically into the crater. Nobody replied as Amata's heart sank yet further with despair. She, in sheer desperation, ran to her house, though she knew that if Arthur had managed to return home, he would have not gone straight there. She pounded loudly up the metal gantries until she reached the door of her house. Throwing the door open violently with reckless desperation, Amata ran inside, calling for Arthur as she span around, looking all around for him.

Quickly realising he was not there, and assuming he was not in Megaton either, Amata decided to run to Simms's house, wake him up and oblige him for assistance. Keeping the same pace she had outside, Amata ran to the Anderson Shelter house that Simms lived in. Amata vigorously banged on the door, the sound resounding throughout the crater. Amata waited, worried and impatient, for Simms to greet her. A few very slow moments passed as Amata begged Simms to hurry. A light inside Simms's home lit up. A very weary and tired Simms opened the door to Amata.

He saw that she had the most profound look of concern on her face. Glancing downwards in surprise, Simms saw the remains of Amata's socks that still clung to her feet, which were stained with blood and dirt; her clothing wrecked and coated with blood; her eyes tired but also tense, pleading with him before she had even said anything. Her entire manner, her expression, delivered an intense sense of urgency to the sheriff.

"Sheriff, you have to help me." Amata implored, looking as if she were about to cry.

"What's wrong?" the sheriff asked, sensing the obvious urgency that Amata was conveying.

"I… I…" Amata stumbled, trying desperately to articulate her point. "We were attacked, I've not seen Arthur." She finally managed to blurt out, still trying to catch her breath.

Simms's concern was confirmed; he had often heard of travellers being attack in the night. "Alright, calm down, Amata." Simms urged. "Where were you attacked?" He asked, trying to discern as much as he could before sending out help, having already decided to send a search party.

"On our way back from Arefu, a few miles away." She revealed.

"When." He asked sharply.

"Twenty minutes ago; I ran straight from there."

Simms narrowed his lips as he began to think. It was dark, and, by now, early in the morning.

"Come inside." Simms urged, placing his hand on Amata's back and gently nudging her towards the door.

Amata sat impatiently on a wrecked settee as Simms went into the back to change from his night clothes, comprised of T-shirt, some worn trousers, to his usual hat, long coat and outdoor clothing. The change was quick, Amata had been hardly waiting two minutes, but it felt like an eternity as she sat, shaking slightly from the stress and the cold, grim night, silently urging the sheriff to act quickly to find Arthur.

Simms emerged from his bedroom fully clothed and booted, with his signature assault rifle in his right hand.

"How far away?" he asked firmly, Amata now seeing the concern in his eyes too.

"I… I don't know. Maybe three, four miles." Came the estimated reply.

"Who attacked you?"

Amata paused, choking on the fact that their attackers were still undisclosed, their power armour revealing nothing about them to her.

"I don't know. They attacked us when we stopped for a break. They wore suits of armour, but all black. We could hardly see them." She revealed.

Simms had no idea what Amata was talking about. He had certainly never seen anything, or anyone, dressed in a suit of armour. He drew to the conclusion that Amata was exaggerating through stress, though he did not know how much the exaggeration distorted the facts. Simms nodded grimly as he opened the front door. Amata stood up from the settee, unsure of what to do, quickly electing to following the Sheriff as he ran to the other side of the town, she watched as he forcefully pounded on a residents door.

"Stockholm!" he called with his booming voice. "It's time to go!" he said, banging on the door yet again.

Moments later, and if by magic, Stockholm opened the door, his rifle in hand and fully dressed. The ambiguous guardian of the town always seemed prepared to Amata. Without speaking, Stockholm followed Simms as the trio ran down a level. They arrived at a house which seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, appearing even worse state of disrepair than the rest of the town. Amata waited silently, fiddling with her fingers to alleviate the stress whilst Simms yet again boomed on the door.

Some moments passed before any sound was heard. The sound was of clashing bottles, the sound of someone falling or something being dropped, followed by a tense silence as Amata urged whoever was in the house to hurry up. Simms violently hit the door, growing impatient himself, the urgent need to leave becoming more and more prevalent.

"Hold your fucking horses!" came an angry call from the house. A few more moments passed until the door swung open, the smell of alcohol and sweat hitting Amata's nose, the repulsive stench causing her to cough. The man who appeared was dressed in a shabby, dirty and wet leather jacket. He propped himself up against the frame of the door as he continued to scowl at the congregation. He had a bald head, with a small goatee; his face seemed to be one of the rare types that constantly had the expression of either anger, or total disdain for anyone else. "The fuck do you want?" he spat, another onslaught of foul odour hitting Amata as she turned away from the smell.

"Get you rifle, we are going." Simms said resolutely.

The man scoffed at Simms. "Fuck that. It's the middle of the fucking night."

Simms stood firm. "You made an agreement, Jericho, don't go back on it now."

The man, now revealed to Amata to be Jericho, looked at Simms with an aggravated expression, even in the black of night Amata could see the tension between them. "Fuck, they weren't even named. Piece of shit, accusing me of being a thief. Fuck this. Fuck everything." He swore as he entered his house again as more bottles crashed to the floor as Amata urged for something to happen. From inside, Amata could hear the man resenting being treated like "A fucking wasted dog".

Moments later Jericho arrived at the door again, rifle in hand, jacket done up, his face aggressive and annoyed. He stood at the door, waiting for Simms to move. Simms stood in his way, staring at him, waiting to see if Jericho would calm down. The man shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he scowled at the sheriff.

"Can I fucking help you?" he demanded, raising his arms aggressively.

"You watch yourself, you hear? You don't want trouble like you had last time." Simms reminded him.

The vulgar man grew very silent as he continued to stare at the sheriff. Simms turned around to face Amata, he placed both hands on her shoulders firmly, trying his best to reassure her.

"We'll be as quick as we can. If we find… _When_ we find him, we will bring him back here. No problem. Okay?" He soothed as he smiled gently at the breaking Amata and began walking towards the town clinic.

Amata nodded her head sheepishly, feeling as if to start crying as she fought back tears and a lump in her throat as she walked beside Simms.

Simms smiled warmly at her, causing Amata to look to the side in embarrassment and shame; ashamed that she had not found Arthur herself. She felt weak, not in as much that she was tired, but because she had been unable to prevent anything, and now, as a result of her failure, she was forcing the three men to go out in search of Arthur. Amata determined upon herself to try and at least show she was willing to help them.

"I think I can take you there, I remember the way, mostly." Came her offer of help.

"No." Simms said decidedly. "You stay here, I'll see about getting those feet seen to by the doc. We'll sort the rest." Simms said before turning around and walking with his party to the clinic.

"Sheriff, no, please, I want to come, I need to know that Arthur is alright." Amata beseeched, grabbing at the sheriffs duster in desperation. Simms disregarded this as he knocked on the door, causing the white haired Doc Church to open the door moments later.

"What is it now?" Church said before he saw the sheriff. "Oh, Sheriff, how nice of you to see me." He said, somewhat hesitantly, worried his initial brash greeting had insulted the sheriff in some way.

"Doc, I need you to look at this one. We're going out to find someone and she wants to come; told her she can't though, her feet are too bashed up." Simms informed him as Church looked at Amata's bloody feet.

"I'll see what I can do." He agreed, peering down at Amata as he took her by the hand and pulled her into the clinic.

"Much obliged." Simms said, tilting his hat before turning around and walking off into the darkness. Church shut the door and turned to face Amata.

"Alright, what seems to be the problem?" The Doc asked, completely ignoring Amata's bleeding feet.

"Erm…" She stuttered, not coping well with the stress of the night. "It's my feet."

"I can see that." He snapped sarcastically. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's, that it." She said, rather meekly, intimidated by the sarcastic doctor.

"Well sit on the bed and I'll have a look at you." He said, pointing at a small and degrading table.

Amata walked carefully over to the bench; now that all the adrenaline from the night had disappeared, the pain had increased to such an extent that whenever she moved pressure on her feet, they would agonisingly inform her of the obvious damage that had become of them.

Amata eased herself onto the bed as the Doc came over. He knelt down and lifted the torn trouser leg on her foot. He gently took Amata's foot in his hand and examined it, first the left, then the right. The doctor looked at her scratched and blood legs; Amata's shins had been shredded by the flora on the ground, and were now well covered with bloody marks.

"This won't hurt a bit." The doc said as he pulled an iodine solution off one of his shelves and opened it. "Actually," he corrected, "This will hurt. It will probably hurt a lot. Hold still." He said, sounding to Amata like he was taking some joy out of the experience.

Amata grimaced with pain as Church removed destroyed socks and began to apply the stinging orange solution to her legs and feet. The solution burnt Amata's already painful feet as it set to work killing the various pathogens which would make Amata's life manifestly more difficult. The pain grew and grew, peaking, seemingly, all at once. Amata bit her teeth, attempting to deal with the pain. From kneeling on the floor, Doc Church saw Amata fighting the urge to complain.

"Less'n you're on deaths door, there's no reason to be pulling those faces." He advised.

Amata attempted, somewhat in vain, to prevent herself from pulling those faces again, lest she be subject to more sarcastic ridicule the Doctor seemingly had such an abundance of. Church began professionally applying several bandages around Amata's feet and legs. He worked with delicate precision; Amata was almost unaware that he was finished. She had slipped into thought, or rather, concern for Arthur. She tried recalling the previous hours events; she was sure that Arthur had followed her; he had given his word, she was sure of it.

"All done." The doc announced, standing up and straightening his back.

Amata looked down to her legs. Her feet and calf's were covered in a finely woven white bandage. The bandage looked rather like a pair of knee high white socks as Amata admired Church's handiwork.

"Thank you, Doctor, but Arthur had all of the money, when he returns…" Amata started, before being cut off by the doctor.

"It's on the house." he insisted with a thin lipped half smile, taking Amata aback. "Oh, and, don't mention it."

Amata was about to open her mouth to say 'thank you' regardless when the Doc turned around.

"I mean it." He insisted. "If word gets out I actually have a heart, everyone will be asking something of me." He grumbled.

Amata smiled at the man's compassion. He walked into the other room for a moment, leaving Amata to admire the new, temporary, socks that the Doc had provided her with. The pain from the iodine had mostly evaporated by now, and the only pain she felt was the pain from the injury itself. A few moments later the doctor returned with a pair of light blue slippers. He placed them in front of Amata and gestured with his hand.

"Come on, step in. I'm not putting them on you. You're not Cinderella, and I'm definitely not prince charming, so come on."

Amata smiled for the first time since the firefight. She slid carefully off the bed and eased each foot within the slippers, wincing slightly at the pain from doing so.

"You'll be alright kid; your friend will be too." The doc encouraged seriously.

The doctor's words did much to encourage unwanted emotion. Amata looked up at the doctor, her reddening eyes filling with tears. She nodded, trying to prevent herself from crying as she pre-emptively wiped her eyes and sniffling. She attempted to calm herself by breathing deeply and slowly. Church watched with his own rendition of sympathy from across the room.

"Go home, get some rest. If anything happens, I'll call for you." He said, walking to the door and opening it for her. Amata walked out into the crater, her feet carefully being placed as to avoid undue pain. She walked down the ramp to the ground floor and began to walk across to the ramp which would take her to her house. She heard the door shut behind her as she continued on.

Amata felt herself fill with dread. The search team had only been gone for ten minutes, yet she found herself worrying; though why wouldn't she? Throughout the night she had been subject to the most severe stress, prolonged by the disappearance of Arthur. The wind blew her loose hair across her face, reminding her of why she always wore a hair band. She walked up the ramp to her house, her heels digging painfully into her slippers as she walked. Amata could feel herself breaking apart, as if the stress of the night was eroding her in some way, and as the night went on, the stress would only compound itself against her. Her hands were shaking rather violently by the time she had reached the door, the handle, of which, rattling in her hand.

The door opened to her house. The interior was blacked out by want of light. Amata switched on her light and looked around the silent room. On the floor was a pile of books that had fallen to the ground when Arthur had placed them on the shelf. She mindlessly shut the door and walked over to the settee in the corner of the room.

Amata curled herself up in a ball on the settee and, for the first time since leaving the vault, began to cry. Her hair covered her face as small tears fell across her face. She could no longer cope with the stress. She needed to find Arthur, she needed to speak to him, she needed to hold him. Regretting everything, she blamed herself entirely for selfishly running away from him, she should have been more aware, she thought. Her closed eyes released yet more tears out as she began to hold her arms together, continually blaming herself. A feeling of bleak despair enveloped her as she lay uncomfortably on the settee sideways.

She sat up, wiped away the tears and walked into the kitchen. Try though she may, tears still flowed as she drunk from the tap. Determined to show at least some strength, she went and sat down on the settee again. Amata began scrolling through her Pipboy's map, trying to locate where they had been shot at. The attempt was in vain, the dark of the night gave no significant features on which she could locate where they had been. She began to hope desperately that, somehow, the search party would be able to find Arthur.

She glanced upwards and saw the small pile of books on the floor. Between two books, almost unnoticeably, there was a corner of a sheet of white paper protruding. White was a rare colour to see in the wastes, most of the white that once was, had since been transformed into a light shade of brown, or some other varied discolouration.

Amata, wiping her eyes again and sniffling walked over to the paper. She lifted the sheet up and found it to be wedged within the front cover of a book. Intrigued she picked up the book where the paper was and opened it up. Inside, and much to her surprise, the book was hollow, only the pages on along outside remained, giving the impression of a normal book. In the hollowed area was a collection of small pieces of paper, all folded the same way as the last, each perfectly square and had numbers on the front, one through six. She picked a letter up, number six, and opened it. At the top, in Arthur's ornate cursive writing was the date and a location. The page was full with writing, all of it perfectly written and in the neatest writing Amata could remember of Arthur's script.

_September the 2__nd__, 2277. Megaton._

According to the planned arrangement for the day, Amata and I were to presume upon a hamlet, some two miles east of Girdershade. We had been directed to examine this location upon the advice of traveller we had met on the 1

_st__ inst. Amata voiced her concern that we will ill equipped for such an expedition; though no arrangement could be made to lessen her woe; we are left in a very great want for money._

We walked without incident to this place, arriving some time before noon. The hamelt itself is comprised of very little, and proved of no worth to my objective. However, there was one moment of profound sadness I could not discourage myself from remembering for the rest of that day, viz., the treatment of a single woman in that town. She was, to all intents and purposes, a slave. Her partner was a brutish man, of some considerable stature and means; according to sources within the town, this man is reputed to have connections, fairly substantial ones at that, to a local drug supply unit.

Amata spoke to the head of the hamlet, as she often does; the natural connection she has with strangers continues to place me at odds with this world; her ability far surpasses that of my own, and I am much indebted to her charitably upon the matter. I left Amata to the task, determining upon touring the hamelt, feeling my use in the background of the conversation would have had a negative impact upon the discourse. I walked throughout the town and found a woman with a blacked out eye. I inquired, somewhat disregarding the propriety around such matters, and discovered the damage to her eye was dealt by her partner, the drug baron.

I offered my condolences, but did nothing much else, lest I be dragged into matters not of my concern. Though this may seem void of compassion, I was of the opinion that the woman, being the result of abuse, would have found no assistance of any kind to any actions I would have taken upon the matter, those actions only would have simply inflamed any perceived provocations the partner may have had.

I offered my apologies and set off. The woman then spoke to me, notwithstanding I had entirely turned around from her, intent on returning to Amata. I re-approached the woman and asked her to repeat what she had said. She informed me that she saw no injustice to herself, and considered her partnership to this man within her favour. I replied that a life without abuse was entirely practicable, and no wonton act by a man can justify any means of abuse to a woman.

She informed me that she, in-fact, was in possession of the high ground upon the matter. She explained, rather fully, that she did not consider the abuse he dealt to her worth leaving the man for, nor the times he sexually abused her did she qualify this as rape. I was astonished by this woman's candid view, and asked her for further clarification. The capricious and often violent man provided her with a comfortable living.

"It is not rape, if he provides me with meat, food, shelter and money."

I attempted to convey my thoughts upon the matter, attempting to impress upon the woman that any pecuniary gain was hardly amenable to any suffering, and that she should prevail to leave the man at once. The woman was quite stubborn upon the issue, she almost seemed gratified to the man. I know, that what I said, was beyond my concern, but I should very much hope that any insight I might have afforded her upon the matter, might have had the consequence of providing her with the means to leave the man, and better herself beyond that man, thus, my words would have justified me for having said them, though I doubt this is the case.

It is strange now, how I encourage myself to not consider other people as I should wish. Stranger still how the acts of evil in this world are considered that of benevolent magnanimity.

I feel, more and more each day, the stresses of this place. I cannot go a moment without seeing harsh injustice that is beyond my control. This woman typifies such a problem. I could never have imagined a world where the oppressors are thanked for such little compassion. I should never hope to return to the vault, and instead, given the opportunity and with Amata's blessing, attempt to rectify some of these injustices, once my objective has been completed. We, ourselves are miserably supplied with provisions, and I do know how to remedy this evil. I feel that this state of affairs will have no easy solution, and though I have no way of adding to our already pallid stores, I should not allow Amata to starve.

Tomorrow we depart for Arefu.

Amata finished the piece of paper. She was entirely unaware that Arthur had catalogued his days; furthermore, she did not understand why he had kept it hidden from her. From what she had read, there was nothing seditious within them, and the pages were more of a sort of diary. Despite Arthur's obvious anxiety for Amata not to see them, Amata found them comforting and reassuring, Arthur's words had a calming effect on her, stopping her from crying as she read Arthur's perspective upon the world.

Arthur rarely expressed himself, even to Amata, and so, she thought, these letters must have been Arthur's way of communicating his feelings to himself. Amata pulled out a new letter and again began to read, reliving her stress as she smiled at Arthur's observations. The letters revealed to Amata that Arthur's compassion for the people in the wastes, his concerned attitude for the future of the wasteland and his almost undying concern for herself.

Amata felt dirty and felt as if she was betraying Arthur, but she needed something to occupy herself. Reading Arthurs remarks, particularly the more flattering one regarding her, made Amata laugh slightly under her breath, while Arthur's harsher, much more critical eye made Amata aware of his state of mind. It was as if she were speaking to Arthur about his feelings in a candid fashion for the first time. Arthur was always discreet, never mentioning anything of self-value to anyone outside of his inner circle of James, Jonas and Amata. With James and Jonas gone, Amata was the only one left. Arthur did not prevail upon a course which he would consider overbearing Amata with feelings, and so had retracted his feelings into himself, more so than he already had. Amata read letter after letter, reading about Arthur's experiences, his concerns, his troubles and his solutions. She saw Arthur as a practical person, finding comfort within this, hoping Arthur would have found a practical way to keep himself safe.

Reading the final letter completely, Amata placed the book on the floor and stared at it for a moment. A tear developed in her eye as she began to miss him. The letters had brought a brief refuse from the stress of the night, but now, as Amata once more faced the prospect of Arthur being hurt, the emotions yet again attempted to overwhelm her.

Amata stood up and wiped her eyes, desperately fighting the urge to cry as she walked into the kitchen. There she poured herself a glass of water from the tap to drink. From the reflection of the metal tap, Amata was shocked to see the state of herself. Her skin was covered in dust from the ground, her hair flowed freely, something she hated, and there were streaks across her face where she had been crying. Amata gasped at her image, understanding how the sheriff took her so seriously. Embarrassed, that someone had seen her looking so filthy, she washed her face with the water from the tap, seeing the discoloured water she was cleaning with drop back into the sink a dark brown colour.

She looked to her clothing and saw it to be in a worse to state than herself. There was no fabric beyond mid-calf height, it had all been either cut away by Doc Church or had been eroded away through attrition. The fabric around the knee caps was gone, showing her bare skin underneath, while the side of her trousers was tearing too. Amata could do nothing to save her jumpsuit now, but she had nothing to change into either.

She shut the tap off and lent again the table, examining her decrepit state. She realised there was nothing she could do until the morning when Arthur had returned. Amata checked her Pipboy, to see if Arthur had replied, but by some mistake, the Pipboy had not notified her. The message screen was blank. At that moment, Amata heard the front gate creak open as it resisted against someone opening it. Her heart jolted as she rushed to see who was there. Painfully running to the front door, Amata could see nothing in the darkness. Listening proved far more a successful strategy as she heard Simms's voice. Hoping for the best, she donned her slippers and left the house to meet them.

As Amata ran down the stairs she could see that Jericho and Stockholm were carrying a body carefully on a stretcher they had made from dead wood. Amata ran towards them, shouting for the sheriff. The sheriff turned around and saw Amata running towards them. She slowed down as she anxiously looked at Stockholm and Jericho. The sheriff gravely turned to Amata, took off his hat and slowly walked towards her.

Amata looked pleadingly between the stretcher and Simms as her heart dropped from the realisation that Simms looked at her with an indescribable sadness. He held his hat between his two hands on level with his chest. He walked slowly towards her, with obvious pain with what he was about to say.

Amata stopped in her tracks, noticing the sheriff's melancholic expression. Her heart ran as she saw the pair carrying the body walk into the clinic. Amata turned to look once more at Simms, begging with her eyes for him not to reveal to her what she now already knew. She began shaking her head softly as Simms walked closer; her breathing became erratic as she struggled to control herself. Her arms felt heavy and her legs wouldn't move. Her hands began to shake as she raised them to cover her mouth, attempting to hide her obvious anguish.

Simms's placed his heavy feet a few steps away from her, seeing Amata in such a way was destroying him; something about the way she looked at him with her melancholic eyes bore right through him. He was a man of substance and strength, but this was testing him emotionally. He had always liked Arthur and Amata, which made what he had to say all the more difficult.

"We… we found him." Simms started lugubriously, choking on his words slightly.

He placed Arthur's bag down by his feet, rattling slightly with the items inside.

"We found him next to someone in power armour. I'd never seen one before. But, Arthur, had been shot. Near the neck. I… I did all I could… wasn't much I could do actually, but I tried. He wasn't breathing when we got there." He revealed, much to the wretched Amata's heartbreak.

She began to cry, silently as she bit her finger in despair, her eyes screaming an inconsolable pain, tears running down her face.

"I checked his heartbeat… but…" Simms attempted, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, finding it hard to speak as he watched Amata breakdown in front of him. "They're taking his body to the Doc to get it checked. I'll prepare the funeral; you don't need to do anything, Amata." Simms offered, trying in some small way to lessen the sadness of Amata.

Simms watched as Amata pitifully fell to her knees crying, holding her hands over her face as she sobbed pathetically on the floor.

Simms was entirely arrested by his inability to react to Amata; he was unsure whether to help her on the floor or allow her to grieve on her own. He stood still, painfully watching her weep; her sobs the only sound in the silent, dark, crater.

Simms could bare her grief no longer. He knelt down and attempted to pick her up, fighting against Amata's refusal. He gently pulled her to her feet and pulled her into a soothing, fatherly, hug, placing his arms around her tenderly, trying all he could to stop her crying.

Amata sobbed into the shoulder of Simms; the occasional wail showing but a fraction of her despair for the loss of Arthur. After some minutes of her weeping, a despondent Amata pulled from Simms's shoulder.

"Can I see him?" she asked forlornly, sniffling with emotion as she spoke.

Simms nodded as he led her to the clinic. Inside stood Stockholm and Jericho in silence, watching Simms and Amata enter. Jericho watched the miserable Amata walk past him; seeing her like that, Jericho regretted his past; feeling for Amata like the ex-raider had hardly done since. He left the building shortly after, to drink himself to sleep.

Stockholm, too, walked out of the room in silence, closing the door softly behind him. The door to the operating room was shut to allow Church to work in peace. Amata and Simms stood outside the closed room as they waited to be allowed in. Amata composed herself as best she could. Still shaking slightly and tear stains down her face, she had stopped crying as best she could, though she felt on the verge of breaking entirely.

All her life Amata had loved Arthur, and now she was only moments away from seeing him for the last time. She regretted, immeasurably so, that she had run without making sure Arthur was with her; perhaps, she thought, the events may not have ended like this. The air in the room was stale, smelling of various chemicals and decades old chairs that were rotting themselves to death. Simms stood silently over Amata, trying to make her feel as secure as possible.

Doc Church walked from the closed room, opening and shutting the door quickly to make sure that Amata did not see the body until she was ready.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Church asked. "It isn't a pretty sight, I'll tell ya." He warned.

Amata nodded her head, looking Church in the eye rather timidly.

Church nodded slowly and walked towards the door. He placed his hand on the handle and, almost dramatically slowly, he swung the door open.

Amata could see a surgeon's bed in the room with a white sheet over the legs of a body. Slowly and hesitantly she walked towards it. She placed her hand on the bedding and ran it up the frame, focusing on her hand and avoiding looking ahead.  
>Protruding slightly was Arthur's hand. Amata's fingers glanced them slightly as they ran beside. Amata stopped for a second, looking at the fingers of her former best friend.<p>

Slowly, against her will, she looked to Arthur's face. From the chest downwards, there was a plain white sheet covering his body. Church had stripped Arthur of the clothing from his upper body. His shoulder had the most gruesome injury Amata had ever seen, so she quickly averted her eyes away from the charred remains of his shoulder. Arthur's neck took an amount of damage too, causing Amata to look away again.

Amata, with tears in her eyes, dared to look at his shoulder. She squirmed uncomfortably at the damage, imagining the pain Arthur must have gone through when he sustained it. His shoulder was black, charred with skin and muscle, the red outline of his unburnt skin circling around the outside. There was a baseball size of his shoulder missing, his collar bone visibly in two parts, severed by the plasma bolt, the acrid smell of flesh permeating the air.

Amata eventually, after some time, looked to Arthur's face. He lay, expressionless and without pain on the bed, his eyes sunken into his head and his skin grey in a melancholic way, his violently blue iris was hidden from his closed eyelids. His short and wavy hair seemed dusty and unkempt as it fell across his scalp in various ways.

Amata brought her hand to stroke his face softly. Running her fingers gently against his face, Arthur's Pipboy beeped, informing its demised owner of a message.

Amata could not bring her eyes from Arthur's silent face as she continued to touch his cheek; tears now streaming silently from her eyes. She sniffled and breathed rapidly, choking on emotion, but refused to whimper at all. His skin felt cold to the touch, but soft; Amata remembered all the times she had kissed it, that occasion where she forced Arthur to sleep in the same bed as her, and cheekily pecked him on the very same cheek she was now stroking.

She knelt by his side and burrowed her face into his left, intact, shoulder. There, she began to cry softly as she hugged his body, remembering all that they had been through. Remembering how Arthur had saved her from the dangers of the vault's water purifiers, or how they would endlessly play as children; how Amata used to spend time with Arthur to avoid her overbearing father; how Arthur would talk to Amata and defend her so protectively from Butch. She did not regret a thing with him, truly, and now her best and only friend was gone; dead, to save her. The inexpressible sadness of fond memories retold taking hold of her.

Simms walked from the building, leaving Amata alone with Arthur whilst Church attended the other ill patients in another room. She continued to sob into his shoulder for a few minutes, passing memories of them together through her mind; grieving that she never said goodbye or told him how much she loved him before the end.

The miserable Amata rose from Arthur's shoulder as she continued to hold his hand.

"I'm so sorry. I am so so sorry." She cried, choking on her words. "I never meant for this to happen. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my feet, I'm sorry I made us stop. It's all my fault, I am so sorry." She spluttered, her face wet and her nose blocked.

Arthur's Pipboy beeped again as Amata apologised to Arthur again and again, seeking redemption from the person she thought she had killed.

Church walked into the surgery again. He watched Amata mourn for Arthur, unable to do much else. He needed to prepare Arthur for his burial in the morning.

Arthur's Pipboy beeped once again.

Doc Church coughed to get Amata's attention.

Slowly, and with great sadness in her wet eyes, she looked to him.

"I need the body. It has to be washed and prepared, it takes a while so I want to get started right away." He explained without his usual sarcastic tone.

Amata looked to Doc Church with her melancholic eyes, still holding Arthur's hand. She stood up, kissed Arthur's fingers and stepped away from the body. She wiped her eyes in between the sniffles, trying to control her broken self.

Simms walked through the door, holding a letter in his hands. He walked slowly up to Amata, seeing her distraught face made a lump develop in his throat. Simms had never seen such a personal reaction to someone's death; life and death in the wastes is a readily accepted fact.

He silently handed her the white envelope. Amata accepted it, confused as to its use.

"Arthur asked me to give this to you, should anything of happened."

Amata looked at the envelope in bewilderment; she was totally unaware that Arthur had made such extensive plans.

Slowly, with great emotion and overwhelming sadness being excited within her, she opened the envelope, her hands trembling with stress. The envelope included three sheets of paper, immaculately folded and with Arthur's signature on the back of all of the folded sheets. Amata opened the folded paper to see line upon line of Arthur's precise and ornate writing, looking like it was straight from the 1800's. Amata smiled a little through tears; always finding his writing beautiful.

Simms brought a chair for Amata and placed it outside of the room where Arthur's body was, and he directed Amata carefully to sit down. He then placed the bag on the floor next to her. Amata did not notice this, intent on reading what Arthur had written.

_To my dearest Amata,_

I have always considered myself the most fortunate of men; your reading of this proves as much. You have been a fool; much to my advantage, less so to yours. I left the Vault with the intention of finding my father, and you, you damned fool, blessed me so graciously with your companionship. Your accompaniment of myself is much to the pleasure and comfort to me, but a curse to you, as I understand it.

Fortunate, I so obviously am, to be in the possession of somebody's will, so much greater still that they so willingly, and in full knowledge of the difficulties, placed themselves in such an evident and dangerous position, and to place me above their own consideration, and above all consequence and family, is a debt I can truly never repay. Your generous compassion has done much to excite those feelings which hampers one's judgement; constantly fixated, as I am, upon your wellbeing. No man can see his friend perish without feeling so deeply for them that his concentrations are not entirely attributed to them, and most particularly he must feel for her when he knows that that they have been brought into this world, in which was against his will, but by her own want, upon her own decision, he must recognise the danger that he has placed her under, and the difficulties which she will be forced to triumph against unwillingly, or face her own demise; those feelings which drove your decision have not gone unrecognised, and I cannot express myself with enough clarity to successfully convey my feelings upon the matter.

I am most fortunate, in a selfish manner, to have passed on before you; how selfishly blessed have I been! I could not much have withstood a world where I was constantly defeated by your passing, compounded by my failure to place myself in that danger that would have taken you. I would have to quit it all, if something happened to you. Without my design, I have placed you into danger that I would not deem acceptable, but through your own character, you have succeeded in humiliating myself and those considerations, showing them to be ill placed and of poor judgement. Through your own character you have demonstrated a compassion that is far beyond mine, so much so that your ability to communicate to others with the charitably and affability that is so typical of yourself, causes much embarrassment on my behalf; I being far inferior to yourself upon this matter. If I have ever seemed aloof, controlling or over protective of yourself, please know that the motives which governed my actions were entirely in the favour of a friend.

I will not suffer such an opportunity to pass without appraising you to the intense and intimate feeling I have always kept for you; and which I have kept so private to myself. I will not, however, attempt to convey the depth of these feelings, or write about how strongly I consider you in all manner of aspects; I fear there is far too much, and I will only manage to bore you long before I can impress upon but a fraction of my emotions, I cannot do it sufficient propriety.  
>I have never possessed the ability to allow myself to converse easily with others. This, I feel, has impeded my ability to socialise with others not of my party. Despite these restrictions, since before I can remember, you have always been a friend. Such awkward feelings I then developed for you, so long I fought against them; how happy I was to discover that you held such affections also.<br>The object that has so entirely captivated my interests has never been my work; nor was it my studies or father; it was, and remains so, my relationship with you. I shall hope, that with the clarity of calmness, that my demise was within the service to you; I should be much gratified if this were the case; my death would not have been in vain, in such an event.

I should not wish for you to renew the search for my father; which heretofore has been so unsuccessful. Instead, I should wish for you to live as you see fit. I cannot envisage your father preventing you from returning to the Vault. I am induced to apprise you of this consideration, should you find yourself in want of quitting the wastes. Please do not mourn my passing too zealously; the dead shouldn't not hinder the living too much. Please, live as you should want, consider my wants no more. Grief is the price of love, and I am glad I have given you the opportunity to mourn, though I should not want you to.

I shall conclude as I ought to, that is, as I should have done every day. I shall not be happy until such time as you are fully apprised of the immeasurable worth I hold you to; till you are sufficiently imposed with effect of your kindness, your affability, your intelligence and your joy. I shall never convey sufficiently the depth of my emotions to you. Therefore, I can remind you that you mean everything to me, in a way I will never be able to explain. I am truly sorry for everything I have put you through, and, if I am only forgiven slightly for my indemnity of inconsiderate actions against you, then that will be some solace.

I love you, most ardently. If I have ever made you doubt that, then I have failed you most seriously. I hope you will find it within yourself to forgive me for being thus selfish. I cannot think of what I would do without you. I would have wished to be able to say goodbye in person, but if I have not been afforded such a benevolence, then there is little to complain; fortunate as I am to have met you in the first instance, let alone to be in possession of your heart.

My circumstance is thus; they are beyond my control. I will not say 'do not weep', for not all tears are of evil.

I love you.

Arthur Wellesley.

Silent tears rolled from Amata's face; gently hitting the letter. She drew in breath as her hands trembled with despair; bereft of hope, she rose from the seat. Her wet face gleaming from the lamp in the room she walked into the surgery to bid her farewell; her ineffable sadness ruining her from within.

Arthur lay pale and grey on the table, oblivious to the stress of the night. His Pipboy beeped again, causing Doc Church to walk over to it. Amata stroked Arthur's face, looking upon the black damage of his cold body.

Church took Arthur's forearm and began searching for a way to remove the Pipboy; he rotated Arthur's wrist, trying to find a way to remove it.

"There is no way to remove it without going through the controls." Amata revealed, wiping her glossy eyes and folding Arthur's letter neatly into her trouser pocket.

"Well, could you?" He asked, placing the arm back on the table.

Amata nodded silently as she walked to Arthur's wrist. She delicately took his arm and positioned it so as to permit her to access it. She opened the interface and began to navigate towards the 'management' section. She located the end process file and began trying to deactivate the Pipboy. The machine beeped again, repelling Amata's request to end process.

"Error 239. No Host permission."

Amata frowned at the machine, clearly shocked at its statement.

"What is it?" Church said, noticing Amata's sudden annoyance.

"It erm," She stopped in confusement. "It won't give me access to disable it. It is saying 'no host permission."

Church walked over. "What does that mean? How are you supposed to get permission?" he questioned.

"The wearer needs to be dead." Amata disclosed as she searched more settings.

"Well check that box." Church said, peering over Amata to see the machine's refusal of commands.

Amata stopped for a second and looked at the machine. Thinking for a moment, Amata remembered the additions that Stanley had made to both of their Pipboy's several years ago. She opened the options memory and navigated to Statistics Human Vitals. There she searched for Arthur's heart rate.

She jolted slightly as she read the reading. Nine beats per minute. She stalled entirely, looking at the reading and refuting its evidence. She looked to Arthur as her own heart beat raced in her ears. The machine had to be wrong; Arthur's charred body was testament to it.

The Pipboy beeped once more, presenting a message to Amata. Looking from Arthur, she read it. "Vitals Critical: Seek medical attention", it urged.

She looked to Church in bewilderment. "He's not dead." She explained, not believing the words were coming from her mouth.

Church shook his head and pulled a face of disbelief. "Let me see that." He ordered as he took the Pipboy in his hand. "How do I move the mouse thing?" He asked as he pressed various buttons.

Amata demonstrated as Church began to search files and read recordings. Amata stood impatiently, watching with wide eyes as her emotions span from despair to hope. Her eyes flickered as Church jumped from file to file, seemingly growing more and more urgent with each file.

"Tetrodotoxin." He whispered to himself.

"What?" Amata questioned as her heart yet again jumped, moving closer to the Pipboy.

"He isn't dead; he's in a coma." Church disclosed as he ran from his chair and began preparing to place Arthur on various drips.

The world around Amata compressed around her head as she looked at Arthur in sheer shock; her expression of incredulity. She did not breathe; her sole concentration was upon Arthur. She could not believe it; he had not breathed, nor did his heart beat against the silence. He had made no noise, made no movement. She had begun to accept his death, but this turn of events had proved too much for her to handle. She herself made no movement, breathed no breath and made no sound as her eyes fixated upon Arthur's face, the atmosphere compressing around her ears as the world became muffled, her eyes became heavy with the sudden change of emotion. It played upon her mind, raging inside of her, stirring confinement and a betrayed anger. The world grew dark with a sense of injustice towards Amata as she argued against her hence held acceptance of Arthur's demise.

Simms stood in the doorway, watching Church run about the room placing various ingredients into his syringe. He glanced to Amata, whose face now was bleak white. He took concern in this and walked over to her.

"Amata?" he asked softly. "Are you feeling alright?"

Amata turned to face him as she began to faint. She leant forwards and began to slide through the air. Simms grabbed onto her shoulder, but it was too late. Amata came crashing down onto the floor; her head contacting the wood a moment before her world turned black. 

* * *

><p>Amata awoke on the settee in her house. The front door to the house was shut and the building was dark, save for a few pillars of light seeping through openings between the corrugated walls. Her head throbbed as she tenderly felt her left hemisphere. Amata felt sick to her core; her head hurt, she felt weak and frail. She tried standing up, her exhausted body resisting any effort. She pulled herself to her feet and attempted to steady herself as the room swayed about her.<p>

She was thirsty, her lips were dry and cracked, her mouth tight from dehydration. Walking into the kitchen, she opened the tap and placed her face under the flowing water, letting the discoloured water wash over her, drinking it as it flowed over her mouth.

The front door opened as a vast pillar of morning light washed into the room. Amata turned about. At the frame of the door was a figure shrouded in light. Amata squinted, attempting to discern who the figure was.

"Amata." Came the soft call. Amata sighed, discovering the voice to be that of Simms.

She walked from the kitchen into the main room to meet him, her padded feet painfully resisting her will to walk anywhere, but she was resolute.

"Where is Arthur?" She asked as the memory of the previous night came back to her.

"It's okay. Church has done what he can. Arthur is awake right now, but he isn't in too good a condition. The Doc will explain that to you when you're down there." He revealed. "Come with me and you can see him now."

A smile of relief and gratitude crossed Amata's melancholic face; she was finally lifted, somewhat, of her intense emotional burden; knowing that Arthur was alive was enough to make her smile, notwithstanding the difficulties that lay ahead. She did not cry, she had no tears left, but she looked set to, nevertheless; not tears of sadness, but tears of relief, almost joy.

She donned her temporary footwear and followed Simms into the daylight. It was in the morning, around nine. The days had grown shorter as September passed into October, the once pleasant warm sun had now lost its capability to warm one whenever its beams passed over them. The autumn morning felt damp to Amata, as if the world had suddenly changed in a night; Summer fleeing at the sight of the cold dark days ahead. The lifeless sun brought no warmth to her skin.

The town was quiet and unremarkable. There were few people walking the gantries or the streets, many still in bed on the Sunday. Simms and Amata walked quickly to the clinic. Arriving there, Simms stopped and looked seriously at Amata, causing her to host a deep cold feeling of resignation in her.

"Whatever you see, you can't let Arthur know you are scared. He can't talk, and he can't move, he can see though, and he can move his eyes, he can hear too, but don't trouble him. He doesn't need that." Simms informed her, looking right into her eyes.

Amata nodded meekly at his orders, swallowing slightly as she did.

Simms attempted the reassure Amata with a smile, though he knew it was of little use. He pushed open the door and Amata silently walked into the reception. She stood at the adjoining door, but did not open it. She was paralysed with fear; with anxiety; with the knowledge that Arthur's damage was so severe he may never properly recover.

Simms stood beside her, watching her seemingly panic. He saw her draw in a deep breath, place an unsteady hand on the door handle, exhale and push the door open.

She walked into the room which was now filled with medical instruments. Various machines beeped and presented readings onto screens as others hissed with compressed air.

On the table lay Arthur, his back carefully propped up, avoiding the damage on his back. His left arm was connected to an array of drips, diodes and medical machinery. His chest was exposed, his black hewn shoulder still open to the air. His eyes were open, those blue eyes looking straight at Amata. She noticed him looking at her, causing her to smile uneasily, partly grimacing at his circumstance.

She walked over to the left of Arthur and knelt down by his arm, his eyes tracking her all the way. She softly touched his hand and wrapped her fingers around his as she tentatively began to stroke his hair with her free hand. Arthur could not speak, he was incapacitated by various chemicals Church had fed to him to ease his suffering.

"He can't talk. He was in too much pain; I had to give him something. He can't feel anything, but he can't move." Church revealed.

Arthur's eyes fixated on Amata's brown ones, seemingly pleading with her to help him.

Amata fought the urge to cry, instead looking at his hand to hide the growing tears in her eyes. She gently kissed his hand as comfortingly as possible.

Arthur lay seemingly emotionless, his blank, expressionless face unmoving, his eyes following Amata's movements.

"I read your letters." Amata sniffled, smiling at Arthur's eyes.

"You write very nicely." She giggled as she wiped away a tear developing in her eye. "I thought you had died. You lied to me." Amata protested. "You said you would follow me." She remembered hurtfully. "I wouldn't have run away if I knew you weren't going to follow me." She revealed. "And now you're hurt. So badly hurt." She mourned as she looked over to his charred shoulder.

Amata's emotions were ablaze with contradictions. She hated herself for letting Arthur to be thus injured; but she loved him, but found his lie hard to forgive. Yet she was grateful he was alive, more so that his actions were in the service of her. She finally felt at peace, though despairing at Arthur's injury. She felt regret at the events, but also gratitude that the events had not transpired to be worse.

She wept silently into his arm, loving him entirely though detesting herself at the same time. She no longer felt the utter despair that flooded her body upon the thought of his death; these feelings had been replaced by a gnawing feeling of guilt, shame and betrayal by herself.

But she was overjoyed. Arthur was alive and she could tell him that she loved him, but something prevented her from doing so. She attempted to, but she choked on her words each time, seemingly not finding the impetus to express herself with the clarity she so desired. All she could do was sob happily into his arm as she apologised over and over, hoping her emotions and her stress was some penance for her self-perceived betrayal.

All Arthur did was continue to expressionlessly stare at Amata on his arm.

Church walked over to Amata and placed his hand on her shoulder as he knelt down to her height.

"He needs to rest." He whispered.

Amata nodded as she stood up, Arthur tracking her movements all the way. She leant over and gently kissed Arthur's forehead before turning around and walking out of the room, glancing back to smile at the immobilised Arthur as she walked through the door.

"I love you." She finally managed to expel quietly as she softly waved goodbye behind wet eyes.

In the reception, Amata wiped her misty eyes as she tried to calm herself down once again. Church walked out to speak to Amata; he needed to tell her what options were left to him.

"Amata," He started grimly. "I need to amputate Arthur's right arm. The damage is too extensive and I don't have the capability to help him. Obviously that means I only have one option. The arm has to go, or else it'll kill him." Church informed, looking at her seriously.

The news weighed heavily on Amata as she felt a hopeless feeling overcome her. She shook her head in disbelief.

"There has to be another way." Amata insisted through her sobs, desperate not to have Arthur's arm removed from him.

Church thinned his lips with disappointment. "There's nothing I can do."

"What about somebody else? There has to be someone who can help him." She implored, cocking her head in frustration.

Churched sighed. "In case you haven't noticed, this is a wasteland. There's no one here who has the skills for surgery like that."

"In the city then?" She supplicated, growing more and more anxious not to let Arthur down.

Church stopped for a second, lost in memory. Amata sparked up as the hope that Church knew some way excited the possibility to help Arthur. Church looked to his storage room for a second before walking towards it. There was the sound of clutter being shifted around for a moment.

Amata inquisitively walked towards the door, peering inside for a better look. Inside she saw stacks of paper piled high with half empty glasses of assorted drinks littering the room.

Church pulled out a holodisk from behind a collapsed pile of papers and briefly studied it in the light, rotating it to find the label. He walked towards Amata and handed her the disk tape.

"There's rumours of a man down in Rivet City. They say he can do all sorts of things with plastic, stuff on robots too. I don't believe it, but it's your only shot. I can only hold off from this amputation for about four days. Past that then I'm taking the arm, permission or not." He revealed, somewhat coldly.

Amata nodded gratefully, looking at the holotape in her hands. She looked to Church and smiled appreciatively at the kind aloof doctor. Amata doubted that there actually was someone with that capability anywhere in this destroyed world; but this was the only option to save Arthur; her incredulity at the inference someone had the ability to reform any part of a body with a pre-war technology would have to be placed aside. As Amata had once stated to Arthur, this was an opportunity she couldn't afford to pass.

"Thank you, so much." A thankful smile crossing her face. "I'll have to see this. I can't do nothing."

"Don't say anything. Just go. I'll do what I can for your friend. This person, whoever they are, lives in Rivet City, by the main river. It's a giant boat; I'd be amazed if you missed it."

Amata nodded and silently left the building. Simms was stood outside waiting for her; he thought it rude to intrude on such a private moment. He stood with a bag at his feet and his rifle across his back, waiting for Amata to have left the clinic.

"Miss Almodovar," he said gently as he walked towards Amata, bag in hand. "I came to give you this." He revealed, handing the bag to Amata.

She took the bag quietly, opened it and looked inside. The bag was Arthur's; it was dirty and had a few shrapnel holes now adorning it. Inside were some spare rounds, a few bottles of water and some food for eating; everything Arthur had packed on that night, but the pistol, grenades and assault rifle magazines were missing, presumably in the fire fight. Two things, however, were not in the bag when they set off, Amata noticed. She pulled out a book, in pristine condition, the pages white and unspoiled. 'On War' was the title. She chalked it down to one of Arthur's books, something he had perhaps found and wanted to read.

The other thing which caught her eye was a small bag. Amata placed the book back within the bag and took out the small leather bag. It jingled slightly as she picked it up and inspected it.

"It's five hundred caps." Simms revealed.

Amata looked with shock at the sheriff. "Where did you get this?" She asked.

Simms smiled. "It was donation on behalf of the town. Ya'll have done so much for us, I thought it was time we paid back a friend in need."

"Sheriff, I can't take…" Amata began to reject before being cut off by Simms.

"Please, Amata. You've done too much for us to just let you alone. We don't have much, but we're decent people. I heard that your considerin' going to Rivet City to find some surgeon and I thought you'd need new shoes." He smiled, looking at Amata's bandaged feet and slippers. "We look after our own. Now go on, you've only got four days to get down there and back." He indicated, indicating to Craterside Supply.

Amata smiled at the sheriff as she set off on a shopping spree. The sheriff laughed to himself as he saw her walk off.

She hurried to the supply shops and knocked on loudly, waiting impatiently to leave. Amata had no footwear, no rifle and no real clothing; she had to buy most of these things at the store. Her feet ached with pain, but Amata planned to buy a pair of boots and wear extra thick socks, as to cushion the impact of her stride.

Amata once again banged loudly on the door; the handle rattled and the door swung open, revealing an overjoyed Moira smiling happily at her guest.

"Oh hey there! Nice to see you again!" She beamed exuberantly. Moira gasped as she saw the puffy and upset face of Amata. "Your face looks awful."

"Hi, Moira. I need clothes and some boots, can you help?" Amata asked politely, avoiding the blatant insult thrown at her unintentionally.

"Why of course I can. Come on in and I'll set you up." The way that Moira spoke created much agitation within Amata, her patronising voice grated on her nerves. Notwithstanding this, Amata walked into the shop; her considerations were greater than whatever annoyance Moira might pose.

Amata stood by the counter wiping her face and waiting for Moira to position herself adjacent to her on the other side of the counter.

"What can I do you for?" She asked excitedly.

"I need to get down to Rivet City; I have no clothes and nothing else. What do I need?"

"Oh my, you need lots of things!" She exclaimed as she walked into her store cupboard. She spent roughly a minute inside the small room dragging various things out and placing them on the table. In front of Amata lay a pair of black ankle high leather boots, brown trousers, a white T-shirt and a grey leather coat that went down to her thighs.

"Don't be shy, put them on." Moira urged, smiling as usual.

Amata blushed awkwardly as she unzipped her jumpsuit to her waist, revealing a sweat stained vest. Amata turned her back to Moira as she removed this vest and, concealing her bra carefully, pulled over the white T-shirt. It fit rather well, and actually complimented her slim figure somewhat.

"And the trousers…" Moira beamed.

"Do you not have a changing room?" Amata asked as she removed her slippers, not wanting to fully strip in front of Moira.

"Goodness, no. I need all the space I can get!" Moira replied, clearly unaware that looking at someone who is half naked is against social convention.

Amata thinned her lips and nodded. She rather awkwardly and clumsily slid the jumpsuit to her legs, blushing in embarrassment.

"I've got new underwear if you want." Moira suggested.

"No! No, what I have now will do, thank you." Amata suggested as she kicked away the trouser legs of the suit and placed her bandaged feet into the new pair of trousers. She pulled them carefully to her waist and buttoned them up. They were a good fit; Moira had a knack for guessing sizes.

"All okay?" Moira asked.

Amata looked around herself, the clothing fit her well and was a definite improvement on her jumpsuit, the style wasn't awful either. "It's good, actually."

"And your boots." Moira offered as he handed them to Amata.

Inside the boots was a pair of thick woollen socks. Amata placed them carefully over her bandages, avoiding placing any stress on her feet, lest she increase her already uncomfortable sores. She slipped the boots over her sock clad feet and tied the laces. She took a few tentative steps in them to test them out; there was no undue pain from walking, no more so than if she walked bare foot.

"They fit well." Amata informed Moira.

"You will need a rifle too! I've heard of lots of nasty mirelurks are down there. Nasty horrible things! You need to kill them." She said as she presented Amata with a rifle. Amata took the rifle and examined it in her hands. The rifle was a bolt action, with a five round magazine at the bottom. The metal was in good condition, though the furniture had seen better days, though everything was still on, it only looked to be battered. Amata opened the bolt of the rifle and peered inside. The inner workings were in very good condition, no sign of wear on any of the parts. Amata worked the bolt a few times and fiddled with the safety catch.

"It looks good." She said as she looked at the sights.

"It's very powerful, as I found out..." Moira said as she trailed off.

Amata smiled at her comment as she walked towards the counter again. She placed the rifle on the table and picked up the grey jacket. The jacket had a soft fabric lining. Amata put it on her and admired her new found style; 'rather fitting for someone who lived in the wastes', she thought. In all, Amata was now well dressed and had a pretty decent rifle too, though she still needed various odd ends.

"Have you got any rounds?" Amata asked, indicating to the rifle.

Moira bent down beneath her counter and pulled out five boxes of twenty rounds, all .308, suitable for her rifle.

Amata thanked her as she placed them into her bag. She looked up, ready to ask if Moira had any food, but before she could, Moira had already placed several boxes of food on the table; the kind that Amata could actually stomach, the dried pastas. Amata smiled gratefully as she put them into the bag as well.

"Anything else?" Moira asked.

"No, that's it thank you. How much is it?" Amata asked as she picked up her old jumpsuit from the floor.

"Well, I was thinking, and I remember what your boyfriend said. "My good graces once lost, are lost forever" she said, imitating Arthur's English accent. "And I thought 'I don't want to have lost someone's graces.', so, to make up for my mistake, it's on the house, for free, from me." She beamed.

Amata shook her head seriously. "No, there's got to be about three hundred caps worth of clothing here I can't." Amata insisted.

"Three hundred and thirty, to be exact, but no you silly goose, you keep it. I heard that he got blown up! I couldn't bring myself to make you pay with a boyfriend who is in pieces". Moira insisted, somewhat inconsiderately.

"Arthur isn't dead, he wasn't even blown up. He was shot with a plasma rifle." Amata informed her as she took her new rifle and shouldered Arthur's bag.

"There's not much difference between the two then! Run along, you must save him! Go!" Moira implored, clearly having mixed up the events from the night. Amata decided against correcting Moira, instead thanking her politely and leaving for her house.

For once, Amata felt cleaner than she had been in a while. Her old jumpsuit was truly filthy and wrecked. Notwithstanding her regular washes in the sink, the jumpsuit made her feel constantly dirty. The new clothes she wore were much cleaner, and much more capable of handling the stresses of the wasteland, she suspected. The generosity of the people of Megaton thus far had shocked Amata. In a place where everyone seemed so destitute, she never expected to have been so well received, or so well cared for after such an incident. The world did not seem so lonely now, even though she felt empty without Arthur.

She walked in silence to her house, each step was uncomfortable in her new boots, but she was sure that after they were worn in, there would be no more discomfort.

Upon entering the house, Amata instantly set about preparing to leave within the hour. She placed down her new rifle and took off her jacket and set about cleaning the rifle, ensuring it was pristine for the trip ahead. She worked furiously, ensuring that no time was to be lost as she stripped her rifle, prepared her food and water, cleaned her boots and readied the ammunition for transport and firing by placing the rounds into stripper clips and into the pockets of her grey jacket. Amata was busy polishing the bolt of her rifle when she lost herself in thought.

A deep sense of foreboding grew within her. She had hardly done anything in her life without either Arthur personally, or without Arthur's support. Now she was truly alone, a lone wanderer seeking to help who she loved. She smiled at the knowledge that the two were inseparable, but, owing to the events heretofore, she was now facing the wastes alone. A fearful proposition to be in, she found. Amata thought of all the times where they had left into the wastes, both reassuring the other's concerns, both protecting each other from any harm. It was difficult for Amata to accept that she now had to fend for herself, to force herself to keep going when the difficulties seemed too much, to inspire herself to ends she did not think she could do in the vault; but she could not see how this was possible, all of those instances of inspiration and endurance were a result of Arthur's support. To Amata, her situation looked immeasurably difficult; but she recognised she had no choice. She had to do whatever she could to help him. He would for her.

"I have to do this, even if I'm alone." Amata whispered to herself, bringing herself back to the real word and away from the abstract horror that was the realisation that for once in her life, she was truly entirely dependent upon herself. Not through discussion or debate were the great events of generations decided, but through personal resolve and determination; Amata knew this, she would not suffer Arthur to be thus incapacitated. Her feelings must be discounted as irrelevant; she had to do whatever she could for Arthur.

She opened the holodisk on her on her Pipboy. It revealed to her a map of Rivet City, a brief description and then a request for help.

"Request,

Skilled surgeon needed for facial reconstruction. No questions asked."

She walked over to Arthur's first aid kit and took out several bandages, Stimpacks and the syringe of Med-X that she still hadn't used from the night before. She placed it carefully into Arthur's bag, attempting to compact its contents so allow space for the medical supplies.

Amata looked at the bag. It was heavy and about as full as it could be. She had packed what she thought was enough for five days; five days of food, water, equipment, ammunition and supplies. Five days for what she intended to be a three day trip; it had to be a three day trip. Her extra caution had added a fifth extra to the weight of the bag, and when she went to lift it, she struggled against the weight. She shouldered the bag and found its straps sat uncomfortably on her shoulders as she tried the move.

The bag was uncomfortable and clumsy, her feet hurt and she felt exhausted already; but she was prepared to go; she could afford no more time. Amata noticed that she had removed the book she supposed that Arthur had been reading, 'On War'. Amata picked it up, thinking that if Arthur could recover to the extent where he could move his good arm freely whilst she was gone, he would appreciate something to do with his time. She walked over to the table and searched with some determination for a hair band, having found the loose hair style both annoying and unkempt, as she had in the vault. Amata smiled as she found the black band and quickly tied her dirty hair back, leaving a few strands free, as not to appear too official.

Amata held the book in her hands as she left the building, having ransacked most of the kitchen's food and the rest of the house's stores. Sliding the key into the lock, she shut the door and locked it from the rest of the town. Amata was as set as she could ever be, rifle over one shoulder, five hundred caps in her bag, one hundred rounds split between her jacket, rifle and bag. Her new clothes were comfortable and somewhat less restrictive then the vault suit.

It was mid-morning but the air had lost its warmth. A feeling of abandonment, of loneliness grew within Amata, a sense of unwillingness to go into the wastes alone dogged her as she slowly walked to the clinic. Once there, she pushed open the door and walked inside, seeing Church in the reception, apparently waiting to see her.

"I'm going now," she said. "You said that this mans' at Rivet City, it's a day and a bits walk from here so I really need a head start."

Church nodded in thought. "He's asleep right now, if you want to see him. The shoulder damage is so extensive he doesn't even have a clavicle anymore. Much longer in the state he's in, it'll be infected and then it'll have to go." He informed her, causing her to look at the floor in grief.

"You can see him, if you want, to say goodbye." He offered warmly.

Amata looked up and nodded slowly.

Church opened the door to the adjoining room where Arthur was. Amata walked in slowly, feeling those same feelings of despair that she had earlier that utter helplessness that seemed so overwhelming.

Arthur was now on a bed in the corner of the room, flat on his back in the supine position, his shoulder and neck now bandaged to hide the damage, blood seeping through in various places. Amata walked to him and softly stroked his cheek as she looked forlornly at him, repressing the urge to shed a tear again. She knelt down and kissed him on his forehead before placing her forehead against his, arching over his body.

Amata remained silent, content that Arthur was alive, distressed in he was in such a state. She stood up after some moments, kissing him again on the forehead as a goodbye. She did not cry, she had no wish too; she knew it would do nothing good to express herself in such a way, endeavouring not to show weakness.

She walked to Church and presented him with 'On War'. She handed Church the book with one hand, and the key in the other.

"If he wakes, will you give him this? I think he was reading it before we left." She requested.

Church nodded in agreement.

"And if you need to go into our home for anything, here's the key." She said, handing him to worn key too. Church again nodded.

"I may be a while, so please hold off from amputating his arm for as long as possible; four days, give me that." She pleaded.

Church saw the importance in Amata's eyes of this request. He once more nodded to Amata before she walked out of the room. She walked to the entrance before turning around to Church, a solemn and earnest look upon her face.

"Could you please tell him that I'm sorry for what happened, and that I'm doing what I can for him." The seriousness and somewhat cold manner which had adorned Amata's face to this point seemingly washed away in front of Church, revealing Amata for what she really was; a girl who was terrified for herself, but more so for her friend; someone who was on the edge of the limits, but who couldn't stop.

"I'll tell him if he wakes up." Church agreed.

Amata smiled thankfully at the doctor as she shut the door behind her. Amata walked silently to the great entrance of Megaton, taking a second to admire the view of the town that she had become so fond of. The somewhat ambiguous charm of the rested buildings, the corrugated iron, and the precarious housing all seemed so comforting to Amata. Taking one last glace, she walked through the door and continued through the aeroplane wings and into the wasteland beyond.

Amata tried to make no scruple of her circumstance as she took the first few steps south east towards the city that Arthur had been so keen to avoid; how strange she found it that she was now walking where Arthur had almost refused to for their own wellbeing.

From behind Amata she could hear someone yelling her name.

"Stop! Amata!" Came the call.

She turned around in curiosity to see Simms running down the slope towards her, holding onto his hat lest it blow away in the dry wind which had begun to pick up.

"Amata don't go." Simms said as he jogged the final metres towards her, the middle aged man huffing rapidly from the run.

"What're you thinking?" He questioned. "Going out there on your lonesome, that's madness." He remarked as he bent over trying to catch his breath.

"I don't have a choice, sheriff." Amata replied.

The dyspenic display the sheriff was exhibiting made Amata smile slightly.

"If you go you'll be killed and then where'll you be?"

"Then I would have died as I should have, helping Arthur as he helped me."

"You sound like Arthur." Simms remarked. "At least take someone with you, for safety."

"I can't, there's no time. It's now or never, there's no other way."

Simms stood up and looked at Amata, imploring her to return with his expression. "Have you got everything you need?" He asked, trying to find some reason for Amata not to go by herself.

His motive was good; he was concerned for her wellbeing. He cared for the pair very much and was hit hard by the news of Arthur, he decided he would do everything in his power to make sure Amata was safe, he had promised Arthur as much.

Amata smiled at the compassionate man. "You shouldn't worry. I'll only be three days. I'm as ready as I'll ever be and there's nothing more that I need. I have to go right away or else Arthur will lose an arm or worse. I don't know how this man is going to help, I don't even know if this man is real, but you've got to understand, would you not do anything, no matter how desperate or ridiculous you may seem if it has the slightest of hope for those you love?" Amata questioned rhetorically.

The sheriff relented, seeing how he could not convince her otherwise. He stood silent for a moment, trying to think what to say next.

"Just, don't do anythin' stupid." He warned.

Amata smiled at the fatherly figure that Simms had been to her over the past day. "I won't."

"And no wandering about in the city; walk straight to Rivet City along the bank of the river, don't walk into the Capitol."

Amata nodded. "I've got to go, but I'll be back in four days." Amata said, trying to relieve the sheriff from his concern.

The sheriff, nodded. "Three days." He said, regretting that he was letting her go, but seeing no other choice. He would not suffer Amata to do nothing and regret her inaction her entire life. This was the worst option, but it was the only option that brought any possibility of beneficial results to Arthur, and consequently to Amata.

"Three days." Amata reiterated as she turned around and continued to her objective.

Simms watched the now resolute Amata continue on intrepidly into the wasteland, admiring her courage and resolve. The truth was conversely more complicated. In Amata, she could find no feelings of noble deeds to spur her on that most admirable of quests, nor did she do it out of a self-belief or a feeling of ability upon the matter. No; the truth was that Amata was riddled with the selfish fear that every person has; that inescapable fear of self-destruction or damage, wrought upon someone by their own follies; the plague of insecurity and the unknown constantly hounding her, testing her courage and defying her steps forwards; the incapacitating fear of the unending dark of night, yet to be confronted, but an inevitability she must accept and invariably face presented her with an unyielding fear of passing time. Despite these insurmountable objects that thus opposed her, Amata could not afford to go back. No noble thought governed her actions; instead what drove her was the consideration of that who she loved. She would not suffer Arthur to be without hope. Instead, it was the wish for Arthur to convalesce that drove her forward, the debt she now owed to him and her desire to fulfil it as fully as possible. She could not do anything as Arthur suffered as a result of her.

Amata walked for hours without rest, her feet painful and her legs stiff, she continued into the dusk of the day. She had walked as fast and as far as her tired legs had allowed, her tired disposition working against her for hours. The air had grown cold again; the autumn's chill finally taking hold of the Wasteland. The quiet wasteland had so far not troubled her, Amata having seen herds of Brahmin wandering the lands, the occasional traveller or caravan causing no consequence to her objective.

Amata could walk no further, the light diminishing causing her heavy feet to stumble, compounding her pain. She decided to stop for a rest, no more than an hour, to allow her feet to recover. In the distance she saw a large rocky outcrop, forty metres high and a sheer cliff. Deciding this was the most discreet position, she continued onto it to rest.

Once she had arrived, he deposited her heavy bag and rifle on a rock and sat down with her back against the cliff, a slight overhand covering acting as if it were a roof, and removed her boots, revealing her slightly bloody bandages. They were not in such a state as to render consideration of replacing them, though her boots had grown hot from the walking and were extremely uncomfortable when she walked, it was becoming evident to Amata that the amount of distance she covered was entirely dependent upon the quality of her feet, and thus, she was entirely at the mercy of any amount of pain they put out.

The night quickly rolled over her position as Amata rested for ten minutes, drinking water and eating a little food to keep her going through the night. The air quickly became cold, the October night making Amata grateful of her new grey coat.

Amata's eyes felt heavy, and without her knowledge, she fell asleep, leaning uncomfortably against a rock. 

She awoke some twenty minutes later, her mouth dry and neck stiff. The world was quiet, deafly so. The entire world was silent, no noise from the accompanying wind, no ubiquitous chirps of insects, nothing but deadly silence.

Amata picked up upon this instantly, finding the world eerie, the cold air sending a shiver down her back. She turned to her rifle, finding solace in holding it, feeling more powerful with it in her hands, more at ease.

In the darkness she pulled the rifle close to her, placing it across her lap. She looked into the darkness, the world was black, the universe seemingly having fallen off within a ten metre radius of her position. She stared into the abyss, hoping to see something, a bush even, to quell her growing fear of this horrid dark. Nothing revealed itself at first, making Amata think she was dreaming this black world, placing her heel on the ground put paid to that concept, the pain being as real as ever. Her boots were by her side and she began putting them on her feet, anticipating the need to move off in a second.

Suddenly, Amata noticed a small amber point in the distance; the small amber light being of some indistinguishable distance, floating upon the air. Amata pulled her rifle closer, now becoming frightened of the world around her and stood up. Resolutely, she pulled the rifle to her shoulder and aimed at the floating light, praying that she was only imagining the light, brought about by her exhausted state. Within an instant, it vanished again, causing much alarm in Amata as she stared at the point where the light was.

Amata could hear only her own panicked breathing as a cloud of her breath formed in front of her with each exhale. To the right of her, there was a sudden cascade of rocks which showered down upon the floor near, but not on, Amata; this caused her to jolt out of her concentration. She turned her rifle and looked above her, peering from under her ledge, her heart racing in the silence.

The tiny light reappeared in the darkness in the direction of the rock fall. Amata shouldered her rifle and aimed at the point, her hands shaking in fear.

"Stop!" Amata called in the darkness, her voice trembling.

The light seemed to come closer to her, defying her warning.

"I'll shoot! Don't think I won't!" she warned.

The rifle was already cocked, a round chambered and the safety off, Amata's finger depressed the slack of the trigger, as she prepared to fire. The light approached closer still, floating gently towards her.

The light vanished. Instantly came a voice to her side as the light died.

"How do you do."

Amata span around and pulled the trigger at the voice, stumbling backwards.

The rifle clicked but no round was fired.

A man, dressed in a brown trench coat, hat on and wearing the best part of a shirt and tie walked towards her from out of the shadow. She was smiling perfidiously at Amata.

"Good evening, Miss Almodovar." He grinned against the darkness.


End file.
